In the Ground to Be Laid
by Memento Mori
Summary: We are all human inside, some simply hide it more than others. Severus Snape finds that forgiveness comes at a terrible price, but brings unimaginable gain and finds his own humanity again in the arms of a beloved. Sequel to Lost Lamb Returning. *NEW C.8*
1. Potions- Past and Present

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Disclaimer: You should know the drill by now. If you recognize it, it's JKR's. If you don't, it's mine, so hands off.

A/N: For those of you who have been following me from the start, this will seem rather familiar to you. The following chapters used to be 8-11 of what is now _Lost Lamb Returning_. I decided, upon Silene's suggestion, to make the story two seperate fics. _Lamb_ used to be called _In the Ground to be Laid_, which became this one, the sequel, instead. Confused yet? Don't worry about it, just read _Lost Lamb Returning_ before this one and you'll be all set. I'm going to reload the first 4 chapters one at a time so I can do a complete overhaul on 'em.

In the Ground to be Laid

-MM-

~*~

__

Bring me a shovel, bring me a spade,

Let the dead remain dead, in the ground to be laid.

__

I live with remembrence, with the people I've slain,

That's the cost of ambition, the price of my gain.

__

They hold back from me peace, until vengence they reap,

Only then will their terror cease haunting my sleep.

__

So bring me a shovel, bring me a spade,

Let the dead remain dead, in the ground to be laid.

~*~

"Lyd?"

Lydia Johnson looked up from the book she was reading. "Thomas," she said in mock annoyance. "How many times have I told you not to call me Lyd? I'm always afraid you're going to try and use me to cover up a saucepan." She rose up from the couch and stretched, throwing her book on the table. "Is it time to go down already?"

"Yup." Thomas grinned and held the portrait door open for them both. "You've been sitting up here for over two hours already. What are you reading that's so interesting, anyway?"

Lydia pulled a wry face as they left the Ravenclaw common room. "Nothing you'd be interested in," she said. "_Illusion de Réalité_; it's an old French novel. You wouldn't like it even if you could read it."

"Gah, you're in England now, remember? We speak English here, not that blasted French."

"Just because you only speak on language," Lydia retorted, punching Thomas in the arm. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were an American."

"Ugh, Lydia, I'm hurt!" Thomas clutched at his chest above the heart and they both laughed. Still laughing, they pushed open the doors to the Great Hall and took their places at the Ravenclaw table, immersing themselves in the noisy chatter of the thousand plus students.

Soon after they entered, Dumbledore stood and gestured for quiet. Almost immediately, a respectful silence descended over the gathered students. Dumbledore smiled.

"Now," the old Headmaster addressed the assembly. "You're probably all wondering why I called you here today, on this wonderful September afternoon. It is because today, I am pleased to extend the Hogwarts' hospitality to a student who was unable to attend the Sorting Ceremony for a number of reasons. Though she has been living in France and attended Beauxbatons up until now, due to a decision on the part of her parents, both whom attended Hogwarts, she will be completing the remainder of her school days with us." He turned to smile at the Ravenclaw table. "I am pleased to introduce: Miss Lydia Johnson, fifth year in House Ravenclaw!"

Lydia flushed red as Thomas poked her in the arm. She stood a bit shyly amidst the applause and half nodded to the gathered students. When the noise died down again, Dumbledore spoke.

"I trust that you all will make certain that she feels welcome. But that, of course, goes without saying. Now-" Dumbledore beamed at all the tables. "Since I have taken so much of your time already, and since it's already rather late-" he glanced up at the enchanted ceiling which had already begun to show signs of the stars appearing, "I call for an impromptu feast!"

He clapped his hands and the golden plates appeared before each student and the tables were soon laden with all manner of good food. Soon Lydia was laughing and talking with the rest of her table.

"So why d'you decide to come t' 'Ogwarts, anyway?" a sixth year beside her asked, his mouth full of potato.

"My parents are still working back in France," Lydia explained, reaching for a platter of boiled ham and chicken. "But they wanted me to go to the same school they had when they were young. Beauxbatons is a nice school, but a lot of the girls are pretty snotty. It's really competitive too, not like here."

"How did you get here from France?" a tiny first year asked timidly. The girl was so small she could barely see over the table.

"Oh, train, just like everyone else," Lydia said. She handed the girl a bowl of potatoes that was sitting too far across the table for her to reach. "I stayed with my friend Thomas here in Kent, then took the train from London."

The talk went on for a long, long time. When the main courses were finished, platters of desserts appeared and students helped themselves to pastries, puddings and ice cream. In the midst of the meal, Lydia's eye was caught by a dour figure sitting slightly apart from the rest of the teachers, his sharp eyes glaring.

"Thomas," she whispered, interrupting her friend who was trying to balance an enormous pile of bread pudding on top of a treacle tart. "Who's that man there, the teacher in black?"

"Mrph?" Thomas looked up. "Oh," he said, swallowing his mouthful. "That's Ol' Snape the Potions Master." He shuddered as the cold eyes darted his way. "Don't get on the wrong side of him. Actually, don't get on _any_ side of him. Stay away from him completely, if you can. He's not a man to cross, Snape." Suddenly, he turned and brightened. "Butterscotch!" he exclaimed and immediately began pouring generous amounts of the gooey golden sauce over his plate.

Lydia wasn't about the let the subject drop so easily, but she knew how Thomas was about his food. So she decided to bide her time; she'd corner him later in the common room.

Sure enough, after the feast came to an end and they all retired to their respective Houses, Lydia brought it up again.

"What did you say his name was again?" she asked, staring into the fire. Thomas looked up, startled. 

"Who?"

"That teacher- the Potions Master."

"Oh, him. Severus Snape." Thomas looked at her strangely. "Why is this so important to you?" he asked. "What's so interesting about that greasy git?"

"I don't know." Lydia shrugged. "He seems familiar. Like I know him or something. I don't know, maybe I heard one of my parents mention him before."

"Maybe. He's not someone you're likely to forget." Thomas shuddered in mock horror. "Greasy, nasty, sneaky, mean, cruel, sadistic, heartless-"

"Okay, okay! I think I get the point!" Lydia laughed and stretched, catlike, on the chair. "We've got him for Potions tomorrow afternoon, right?"

"Yeah. Double. With the Slytherin snakes. Should be fun." His tone clearly indicated just how "fun" he expected it to be. "I'd rather work with Hufflepuffs than those slimy bastards."

"Mhm, my father told me stories about them," she mused. "I'll be sure to watch out."

"You may need to do more than that," Thomas warned. "Ugh." He fell back with a look of dazed pain in his eyes. "I don't feel so well."

Lydia snorted. "I'm not surprised, eating as much as you did. What possessed you to try and tackle an entire steak and kidney pie right after that blood pudding?" She snickered unmercifully as Thomas' eyes glazed over as he held his aching stomach. "And then that ham and chicken? And did you really need _all_ those potatoes? And dessert! Where do I even _start_?"

Thomas looked at her reproachfully. "You, Lydia Johnson, are a cruel, cruel girl."

"Oh, you'll feel fine in the morning," she said gaily. "If not, you can always get your dearly loved Potions Master to mix you something that'll make you feel right better."

"Thank you, I'd rather die of indigestion than whatever it is that old coot would fix up for me," Thomas grumbled. In fact, he grumbled the entire way to the stairs where they parted to go up to bed, and Lydia could have almost sworn she could hear him still at it as she climbed into her four poster bed.

As she lay in the dark, though, the mirth she had felt down in the common room dissolved, leaving her feeling not exactly empty, but- anticipating something. Whatever it was, it kept her up long past the time when everyone else had gone to sleep, staring at the ceiling and trying to pin down her thoughts. And whatever it was, she had a feeling she'd know more tomorrow during double Potions...

Snape was just putting the final touches on his truth potion when the first of his students arrived. Without looking up, he carefully arranged the bundle of Jobberknoll feathers on the table in front of his desk. It wasn't until the last student arrived and took their seat that he looked up.

He glared at the seated students, his black eyes clouded and unreadable. Ravenclaw and Slytherin. His mind wandered back to the day of his own Sorting and he almost smiled at the irony of it all. How perfectly fitting. Drawing himself up, he gazed coolly at the students and began his introductory speech which hadn't changed in all the years he had been teaching at Hogwarts.

"I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." 

He didn't really have his hopes up with regards to the last part. As his eyes flicked over the call sheet he recalled most of the names from previous years. Marissa Hain, the Ravenclaw who had managed to somehow shrink her own cauldron while brewing a swelling solution; Andrew Morrowi, Slytherin. He had nearly killed himself last year when a fellow Slytherin had dared him to drink a potion that was only half completed. Snape snorted to himself. Andrew was the son of his old housemate Jake Morrowi, a hopeless idiot. Unfortunately, it looked as if Andrew was following in his father's footsteps.

There was Alicia Kenny, who'd strewn the classroom with rat tails; Mosco Vinnet who shattered a jar of leeches on the floor; and-

"Lydia Johnson."

Snape froze for as he read the name from the sheet and nearly dropped the parchment. _Coincidence_, he told himself fiercely as he stared at the named marked in black ink. _It's a common enough name_._ It's just a coincidence_. He looked up sharply, searching for the girl.

"Sir."

For a moment, it seemed as if time stood still. It was _her_ face that looked back at him, her face just as he remembered it all those years ago. The heavy black braid hung over her left shoulder, her head lifted just so as she raised her hand. For a moment, he thought it _was_ her.

_Don't be ridiculous_, the voice in his head said sharply. _That was almost fifteen years ago_._ Get your head on straight, some of the students are starting to stare_.

Abruptly Snape brought himself back to the present and finished the rest of the list with his usual curtness. When he had finished, he set the students to work creating truth serums and within moments the room was filled with fire, steam, yells and floating blue speckled feathers everywhere. Meanwhile, Snape stood back to watch his newest batch of students, one girl in particular.

As he studied her more carefully, Snape realized that she was not, in fact, as similar to the girl he remembered as he had first thought. The hair and build was the same, but this girl's nose was rather flat and her eyes were spaced just a tad too far apart to be attractive. Still, the resemblance was startling. Even as he watched, he felt the memories overtaking him, but this time there was no fear, no pain...

***

"You again?" The familiar teasing voice startled Severus out of his thoughts. "I thought your kind mostly hid in the grass. I see that someone has yet to step on your tail."

"And I see that you're just a bird brained as ever." Severus looked up from his plate as Julia took the seat next to him.

"You're more right than you think," she groaned as she buried her head in her arms. "Ugh, if I'm smart enough to be put in Ravenclaw, then how come I can't even make a bloody shrinking solution?" She sat up and ran a hand through her hair. Today it was out of its normal braid and she let it hang loose to her shoulder blades. "I've been going to tutoring and everything, but nothing seems to work! It comes out red when it's supposed to be green, it's runny when it should be thick, clear when it should be milky- I don't know what to do!" She pounded the table out of pure frustration, making the plates and goblets shake and dance.

"You could start by letting me finish my meal without wearing it," Severus said blandly. Julia just rolled her eyes. "Seriously," he continued. "What's so difficult about it? You just add the ingredients and follow the steps. If you're a wizard- or a witch- it should come out fine. I don't understand why people have so much trouble with it."

"Because maybe some of us don't spend all our time down in the dungeons," she retorted. "It's not so easy for the rest of us, y'know."

"Yes, so I gathered." Snape toyed with a piece of bread then sighed. He stood and glared at Julia. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Are you coming?" he snapped, turning and heading towards the doors.

"Coming where?" Julia half rose, uncertain.

"To the dungeons, of course. Do you want to learn how to make a potion or not?" He strode onwards, not waiting.

"Fine, fine. Hey, wait up! _Wait_!" Julia ran after him as he laughed.

"Okay, so now you wait until it turns a light blue color...not yet...not yet...now! Add the daisy roots all at once!"

Yelping with startlement, Julia dropped in her bundle of roots and watch wide-eyed as the bubbling liquid turned light gold then darkened into a berry red. "I did it!" she squealed. "I did it!"

Severus smiled as he watched the Ravenclaw girl dance around the potions classroom. Professor Carroay had lent them the use of the room when Julia asked; Severus suspected that a good deal of the reason Carroay had agreed so quickly was because that way he would not have to tutor Julia himself. It wasn't that she was such a terrible student so much as the fact that Carroay took little to no pleasure in his teaching subject, something that earned him no little scorn from Severus.

"You're not done yet," he reminded her when she wound down slightly. "You've still got the peel the shrivelfig and add the sliced caterpillar, remember?"

Julia made a face. "How about you add the caterpillar for me while I do the shrivelfig. There's just something about all those legs that really gets to me."

"I rather think not," Severus told her with a smirk. "This is your potion, remember? That means you get to do every step all by yourself." He ducked the blow she aimed in his direction. "Hey!"

"Patronizing bastard," she muttered as she pulled a knife from one of the desks. Carefully, she lay the shrivelfig down on the table and began peeling away the skin. "You know, though, I think this is the first time I've ever had a potion go right for me before. It's amazing, really. I wonder what Carroay would think?"

Severus snorted. "He'd probably take one look and pack up, leaving me behind to take his place," he said. "That man may know what he's doing, but it certainly doesn't show half the time. I wonder if there's anything he _does_ care about."

"Who knows? He certainly doesn't look like he's enjoying himself at _all_ during cla- ouch!" Julia dropped the knife and quickly stuck her fingers in her mouth.

"What is it? What happened?"

"Cut myself," she said, taking her fingers out to look at her hand. "Startled me more than anything, I think. It doesn't really hurt- just a scratch."

"You're bleeding." Gently, Severus took her hand and pressed a damp cloth to the place where the blood had gathered. "Hold this here until it stops." He caught her eyes for a split second and felt his face heating. "Don't get any blood into the cauldron," he said, looking away. He stared at the boiling potion, but slender fingers caught his gaunt cheekbone and turned his face back.

"Thank you, Severus," Julia said, her voice low and strange. She leaned forward slightly until their faces were almost touching and Snape could feel her warm breath on his lips. Then she kissed him.

Caught off guard, Severus nearly stumbled backwards, catching himself at the last moment on the side of the desk. Her lips were warm on his, gentle, and he tasted the faint trace of cranberries. He found his hands reaching up as he kissed her back, hesitantly at first, then with greater confidence.

When they finally broke apart, she smiled at him shyly. They said nothing for some time, the only sound the constant dripping from somewhere in the dungeons and the hiss of the fire beneath the cauldron. Finally, Julia spoke.

"I hope you don't-" She stopped and searched for the words. "I mean, I don't often just- you see I- oh damn!"

"Don't worry about it," Severus told her. "I think I get what you're trying to say." He looked at her for a moment remembering the soft touch of her lips, the smell of her hair. He licked his lips and tasted cranberries. He caught her glance and felt himself turning red again. Quickly, he looked away and his gaze fell on the cauldron. He felt his eyes widen.

"Get the fire!" he shouted, hurrying to lift the frothing pewter cauldron off the flames. Some of the red liquid splattered onto his hands, but he grit his teeth against the pain and heaved. The heavy cauldron landed on the floor and rocked on its base, but eventually it steadied enough for Severus to let go. Meanwhile, Julia had managed to put out the fire and rushed over to help him. Once they had gotten everything under control, she leaned back against the stone walls and wiped her brow with the sleeve of her robe.

"Damn," she swore. "And it was going so well, too! Bah," she flicked a piece of shrivelfig onto the floor, where puddles of potion had formed when the crimson liquid had boiled up over the rim of the cauldron. "Maybe I was just never meant to be good at potions."

"Rubbish. You just need to concentrate. Spend a little more time with it. You did just fine today until all this."

"Maybe." She didn't sound convinced.

Just at that moment, Professor Carroay entered the room. He stopped, eyes widening as took in the mess of his classroom. At that moment, Severus noticed that in their haste one of them had knocked over both the bag of shrivelfigs and the jar of caterpillars; the contents of both were strewn all over the floor.

"I see you two have been busy," he remarked. He glanced at Severus. "Was there any problem?"

"Er-"

"No, sir," Julia interrupted. "The cauldron heated up more quickly than I thought. Caught me by surprise. Severus had his back turned at the time."

"I see." Carroay sighed. "Well then, just get this mess cleaned up before you leave. I have a class in ten minutes."

"Yessir," they both said as he left. In a matter of moments they had the mess more or less cleaned up, although there were still caterpillar parts stuck in between the stones of the floor. As they gathered up their bags to go, Julia caught Severus' hand in hers.

"Thanks again," she said, rising up on tiptoe to give him a quick peck on the cheek. She gave his hand one final squeeze, then disappeared up the stairs to the Ravenclaw Tower. Snape watched her go, an odd expression in his eyes and the taste of cranberries on his lips.

***

Snape was suddenly startled out of his memory by a peal of laughter. He looked over sharply. The Johnson girl was smiling at something her friend had said, a rather mournful looking boy Snape remembered as having cracked three cauldrons the year before. Her black eyes flashed as she laughed, and suddenly Snape found himself irritated for no particular reason.

"Mr. Applegate," he said icily. "I do believe that's your cauldron that's about to boil over, isn't it?"

The girl's companion looked over, startled, then panicked as he tried to lower the flames heating the liquid. Snape sat back, somewhat satisfied until he caught the girl looking at him strangely. The look in her eyes reminded him of that other girl from years ago as she told him off down in the Hogwarts fields. He felt something inside him twist uncomfortably.

The minutes dragged by intolerably, and it seemed to Snape that hours had passed when he finally called the students up to hand their potions over to him. They lined up in front of his desk for his critique like prisoners lining up for their executions.

"The solution is supposed to be clear, Jamus, not blue. You should be able to pour a potion; why, then, Marissa, does yours appear almost solid? You've got crystals in yours, Mr. Applegate. If I made you drink it next time, would it improve your performance? Miss Johnson-"

Snape paused, holding the crystal phial up to the light. The liquid was perfectly clear and just the right viscosity. He stared harder. Nothing caught his eye that was not supposed to be there. The potion was flawless.

"Well done, Miss Johnson," he said curtly, handing the phial back to her. "The rest of you could take a lesson from this," he said, raising his voice. As much as it pained him to admit it, he was impressed. Only a few fifth years had been able to create such a potion before, and one of those had been Snape himself back in his days as a student.

The rest of the class went one by one through his scathing evaluation, some coming out on the brink of tears although on the whole it was the Slytherins that fared slightly better. Although it was only the first day of class, Snape had found reason to take a total of forty five points from the Ravenclaw house, whereas he awarded fifteen to a Slytherin student who had made a potion nearly as good as Lydia Johnson's. He heard the students muttering and casting dark glances over their shoulders at him as they filed out, but he ignored them. He'd had enough practice at it, after all.

When the last student had departed for their next class, Snape shut the door with a minor spell and leaned back, eyes closed. He tried to recall the heavy braid of dark hair, the brown eyes that could flash with laughter at a moment's notice. Or the clean scent of her skin and hair. Or the taste of cranberry.

It was useless. His mind was empty and blank; try as he would he could not dreg up a single memory, good or bad, with any clarity. What he could remember were no more than faded images, pictures with blurry faces and empty voices.

After sitting there for an immeasurable time, searching the farthest corners of his mind any memory, Snape gave up. With a small sigh, he retired to his office and sat at his desk facing a plain wall mirror. His own image stared back at him, a mouth twisted from too many lies, a jaw clenched so long he couldn't remember it any other way. He stared at his reflection for as long as he could, then turned away angrily, as if he couldn't bear looking at his own face.

"Can you believe that bloody git?" As soon as they were clear the dungeons, Thomas exploded. "Forty five points on the first day! And for what? Nothing he'd ever blame his precious Slytherins for, that's for sure."

"Mhm." Lydia nodded absently as they headed out to their next class, Herbology.

"And then he had the gall to give that bastard William Syrus fifteen points for his potion! And yours was better than his by far!" Thomas growled and banged his fist against the walls as they passed. "I don't know how I'm going to stand that class for the rest of the year. What about you, Lydia?"

But Lydia was no longer listening. "Did you see the look he gave me today?" she asked, her eyes distant. "It was as if he was trying to see something about me that wasn't there. It was so strange..."

"Huh. Probably trying to find something he could take more points off for," Thomas scowled. "Don't know why Dumbledore keeps him on. I'm surprised he hasn't been given the boot from the sheer number of complaints Dumbledore must get about him! Honestly!"

"Thomas, you're really a big nit sometimes, you know that?" Lydia asked absently as they picked their way over to the huge greenhouses. "Give it a rest, will you?"

"Hmph. Fine. I just don't see where he gets off doing-"

"Thomas." Lydia turned a steely gaze on her friend. "Shut it. I'm trying to think." She shook her head. "My mum once told me something about him once. Of course, he wasn't a teacher then." She pondered a moment longer. "Nope. No good, can't think of it. S'bothering me, though. Wish I could remember what it was."

"Unless it's the secret of how to get on his good side without changing Houses, I don't want to hear it. Okay, okay!" He threw up his hands when she gave him a Look. "I'll drop it. Don't worry. Herbology with the Hufflepuffs will give me more than enough to complain about tonight at supper."

"I'll look forward to it," Lydia responded dryly.

Herbology was not as bad as Thomas made it out to be; in fact, Lydia found most of the Hufflepuffs to be rather endearing, though a bit thick in their steadfast refusal to think any way but linearly. True to his word, though, Thomas kept up his endless litany of complaints the entire way back to the castle and through most of supper. The only thing Lydia was thankful for was that he couldn't eat and talk at the same time.

As she toyed with a bit of carrot, she happened to glance up at the High Table where the teachers sat. There at the end, his sallow face twisted in its usual sneer, was Severus Snape.

Tonight there was something pointed about his stare. It was obvious he was directing his hate at someone specific. Lydia could almost feel the hostility and resentment radiating from the tall Potions Master in waves. She followed his eyes to the unfortunate who was on the receiving end of his dubious attentions.

She was surprised to find that it was directed at a rather small, scruffy black haired boy with glasses sitting at the Gryffindor table. When she looked harder, however, she realized that she recognized the boy, for even in the far reaches of France they had heard the name of this boy echoed through the streets and in every wizarding household. The boy who had defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when he was only an infant, destroyed the Dark Lord before he could walk. The-Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter.

All at once, Lydia realized that she had been staring and immediately turned her attentions back to her food. As she ate, she realized with a small grin that she was vaguely disappointed. Harry Potter, the boy who the entire wizarding world knew about, was as plain and ordinary looking as a boiled potato. She snickered quietly as she speared one on the end of her fork.

"What's so funny?" Thomas demanded as he devoured a large portion of chicken and dumplings. "Are you going to eat that?"

"Nothing, and no." Lydia plopped the potato onto her friend's plate and pushed her own away. "A good first day, don't you think?"

"Huh, if you discount class with that greasy git, Snape, then I guess so."

"Is that class going to be like that all year? Does he _ever_ loosen up?"

"Snape? Loosen up?" Thomas snorted. "That'll be the day when the grass turns purple and the kelpies start singing. And I guarantee you that if it does happen, it'll long after I'm dead. That man's so stubborn he'll probably outlive us all just out of spite."

"Mm." Suddenly, Lydia grinned. "It's going to be a good year," she announced. "I can feel it."

"Uh oh, don't tell me you're turning into Trelawney," Thomas moaned.

"Who?"

"The Divinations Professor." Thomas pulled a face. "Don't worry, you'll meet her in time. I hope you don't anticipate living a long life or dying peacefully in bed."

"Half the time I don't understand a thing you're saying, you know that?"

"Never mind. You'll see what I mean when you have her class." His eyes lit up. "Dessert!"

The rest of the meal passed in relative quiet.


	2. The Wind Song

Minerva McGonagall stretched and yawned as she waited for Dumbledore to finish pouring her a cup of tea. She took the steaming mug gratefully and inhaled the scented steam. Dumbledore finished adding sugar to his own mug then gestured, the tea tray disappearing without a sound.

"It's going to be an interesting year," McGonagall said. "I have this feeling. It won't be a quiet one, that's for certain."

"Have you been speaking with Sibyll lately, Minerva?" Dumbledore hid a smile behind his teacup as she glared at him. "Actually, I'm inclined to agree with you. If there's one thing I've found, it's that nothing stays quiet for very long and the longer it does remain so the greater the magnitude of the approaching event. There's been such a lull in the past year that what's coming should be rather exciting, don't you think?"

"If you consider trolls in the castle, the return of a Dark Lord and Weasleys on the premises to be 'exciting,' then yes, I suppose it will," McGonagall snipped. "What a shame that most people don't share your particular idea of fun."

"You must learn to live a little, Minerva," Dumbledore said, unruffled by her sarcasm. "Life cannot always be boring, and since it there isn't anything you can do to prevent it, you may as well take some enjoyment out of its little peculiarities."

"Any other pearls of wisdom you'd care to share?" McGonagall asked dryly, sipping her tea. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he opened his mouth, but they were spared his response by a knock on the door.

"Come in."

"Excuse me, Albus, I hope you're not busy," a tiny voice squeaked. Professor Flitwick entered and shut the door behind him. "If you've just got a moment, I'd like to speak with you."

"Certainly, Filius," Dumbledore said as he stood, his teacup swallowed up by the air. "What is it you need?"

"I think we're having some trouble down in the Charms classroom. It may just be Peeves again, but I'm not sure. Some of the students seem to think the desks are possessed."

"Well, let's go down and have a look, shall we? Excuse me, Minerva."

McGonagall just waved him away. "I'm more than content to wait here," she said. "Take your time. I'm not starved for company." The door closed behind the two.

She had just picked up a book beside Dumbledore's desk and was preparing to read when, not five minutes after Dumbledore and Flitwick departed, someone knocked on the door. "Yes?"

The door opened, revealing a rather haggard Severus Snape. "Where's Dumbledore?" he croaked hoarsely.

"He went with Filius to see about some problem in one of the classrooms. What is it that you need?"

"I need to speak with Dumbledore. Now." Snape lurched and nearly fell into the desk. McGonagall rose swiftly, her hand out to stop him.

"I think you'd better sit down, Severus."

Snape shook his head. "I need to find him. You don't understand, it can't wait."

"You're not well-"

"I'd rather noticed," Snape interrupted harshly. "Where is he?"

"I'm not certain where he went. Why don't you just sit down, Severus, wait for him here? He won't be gone long-" She reached out to steady him.

"_Don't touch me_!" he screamed, jerking back from her hand. Suddenly his wand was out and level with her head. "Don't come near me! I swear to God if you touch me again, if you try to do _anything_ like that to me again I'll kill you!"

"Severus, what are you talking about?" McGonagall felt a trace of fear as she stared down the length of Snape's wand. His eyes were wild, the pupils dilated in what McGonagall could only guess was sheer terror. What frightened her the most, however, was the utter lack of _seeing_ in the Potions Master's eyes. It was as if he were in another room, another world, seeing something other than what was real in which nothing could get through to him.

"Severus, it's me! I'm not trying to hurt you."

Snape laughed, a chilling sound. "Don't lie to me," he snarled. "I'm through with your lies. I know what you've been planning this entire time, but it's too late. It's too late, Emily, you can't get rid of me now. Not if I get rid of you first." He brandished the wand.

"_Severus Snape! What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing?_"

Both Snape and McGonagall spun around as Dumbledore's voice thundered through the room. He stood in the doorway, blue eyes flashing with a dangerous light that few teachers and fewer students had ever seen in the normally jovial Headmaster. Now Dumbledore drew himself up to full height, exuding the _presence_ of a man twice his size and then some. Immediately, Snape froze, his hand still hovering in mid-air.

"You-" Snape's jaw worked, but no words came. He looked from Dumbledore to McGonagall, then to the wand still clenched in his fist. "I-" The mad light slowly faded from his eyes and he blinked slowly, still staring. Suddenly, he dropped the wand a crumpled to his knees there on the floor in the middle of Dumbledore's office.

"Don't go near him, Minerva," Dumbledore said quickly as McGonagall stepped towards the crumpled Potions Master. "I don't want whatever it was that set him off to happen again." He knelt beside Snape. "Talk to me, Severus. What's going on?" Silence. Dumbledore looked up at McGonagall, questions lurking behind his blue eyes.

"He came in here looking for you," she said quietly. "Said he had to find you, it couldn't wait. He wasn't looking at all well and the he stumbled. I reached out to catch him and, well," she gestured at Snape's huddled form. "You know the rest."

Dumbledore nodded grimly. He reached out slowly and placed a tentative hand on Snape's shoulder. He felt the Potions Master shudder at his touch but he did not pull away. "Can you hear me, Severus?" Still nothing. Frowning, Dumbledore rose and mouthed the word _Poppy_ at McGonagall. She nodded and took herself out in search for the Mediwitch. They seemed to be gone a long time, by Dumbledore's account. When she finally did arrive, Pomfrey took one look at Snape and immediately began snapping out orders.  
"Albus, call someone to get him down to the Hospital Wing _immediately_. Minerva, come with me, I'll need your help. Dumbledore! Well, I don't know, get Hagrid if you have to. I told you before not to send him back in, but you didn't listen. Now look at him! Oh, now isn't the time for this, but you and me are going to have to have a long talk about all this nonsense when we're done. Hagrid!" She grabbed the huge man by the sleeve of his moleskin coat as he appeared in the doorway and pointed at Snape. "Don't just stand there dawdling, get him down to the Hospital Wing."

Obviously startled and more than a little confused, Hagrid evidently decided it would be easier just to obey without question and scooped up the limp body of the catatonic Potions Master and headed for the door. McGonagall saw how thin and frail he looked in Hagrid's giant grip and averted her eyes as they all filed behind Hagrid.

Once they arrived at the Hospital Wing, Pomfrey instructed the big man to lay Snape down on one of the beds. She continued to call out orders brusquely as she washed her hands in the sink.

"Minerva, could you hand me that bottle there, the green one? Good, set it down beside that jar of salve. I told you, Albus. I _told_ you. Hagrid, could you be a dear and just nip off outside? The rooms too small and you're just too big. Thanks luv. You!" She pointed to a startled black haired girl who had poked her head timidly around the door. "Get me some water and cold towels. Hurry!"

By this time, Snape had closed his eyes and curled tightly into a ball. Pomfrey glared at Dumbledore. "Out," she ordered. "Too many people. I'll call you when I need you. No, not you, Minerva. I need you here with me. You too, dear." The last was to the dark haired girl who had returned with a basin full of cold water and a stack of clean towels. Pomfrey took one and laid it across Snape's forehead. "Now, Minerva, tell me what happened."

McGonagall never took her eyes off Snape's unmoving form as she recited the events that had happened not half an hour before. When she finished, Pomfrey had gathered up a rather large pile of bottles and jars and lined them all up on a small table beside the bed. "What's wrong with him, Poppy? How could I have set him off like that?"

"Couldn't have been helped," the Mediwitch said crisply as she bustled beside the bed. "I'm not exactly sure what happened, but my guess is he came looking for Dumbledore and got himself caught up in a memory." She looked hard at Minerva. "Did he say anything that struck you as particularly strange?"

"What, other than screaming that I was trying to kill him and he was going to kill me first?" McGonagall asked sardonically.

"Aside from the usual suspects, yes."

"He called me Emily," she remembered suddenly. "He said he was sick of me lying to him, and he wasn't going to take it anymore. And he called me Emily." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the student who Pomfrey had ordered to stay, her hand clapped over her mouth. But there was no time to wonder about that now. "Does any of this make sense to you?"

"Mhm, like I thought. He got himself trapped in a memory so deep he couldn't tell his world from reality." Pomfrey looked up, her eyes dark. "He honestly thought you were trying to kill him."

"But why? What would have brought that- memory- back? And why so strong?"

"That's what I'm not sure about," Pomfrey said grimly as she mixed two bottles into a goblet. "I think that's why he came up to see Dumbledore, though. For advice. Oh, I swear I could kill that man-"

"Let's concentrate on the here and now, if you don't mind," McGonagall said. Snape was no longer curled up in a ball, instead he was limp and startlingly pale, even against the white sheets. "Why this?"

"When Dumbledore startled you both, the memory- disappeared. But it didn't fade away like it was supposed to. The backlash must have hit him hard, as well as the knowledge of what he was doing when he came back to reality." Her lips thinned as she carefully poured the potion into Snape's half-open mouth. "The only way to bring him back is to shock him out of the backlash. If I can just get his mind working again-"

With a huge, sudden gasp, Snape's entire body convulsed. Pomfrey threw herself over his chest, pinning him down to the bed as he shook. A scream so filled with despair that McGonagall almost clapped her hands over her ears filled the room and she saw the girl by the door do the same. She looked at Snape, but it was Pomfrey's face that caught her eye. The Mediwitch's expression was that of pure murder, and McGonagall had little doubt that if _anyone_ crossed her at that moment Voldemort himself wouldn't survive what she would do in her rage.

"_Keep him down!_" Pomfrey shouted. McGonagall and the girl rushed over to help hold the thrashing Potions Master down on the bed. "Name of Merlin, if this is what he's like when he's cataleptic, I can't even _imagine_ what it must be like for him awake. Hold him!"

Snape's violent seizures peaked suddenly, then ceased altogether. Trembling with reaction, McGonagall released her grip and stood back, breathing hard. The student who had been conscripted by Pomfrey did likewise, her brown eyes wide with fear and confusion. McGonagall gestured the girl over to her side where they both watched the Mediwitch's ministrations.

"Don't want to do it," she muttered as she busied herself amongst her bottles. "But I can't have him going off again like that. It'll buy me some time to think, at least." Her hands flew as she poured various bottles into a large goblet. "Asphodel and wormwood. I hoped I'd never have to use this stuff again." She sighed. "No help for it now." She tipped the contents of the goblet into Snape's mouth and slumped back, her eyes closed. "He won't be waking any time soon."

"Poppy." McGonagall's voice was sharp. "Did I hear you correctly? Asphodel and-?"

"Wormwood." Pomfrey nodded. "What I just gave that man was the Draught of Living Death."

McGonagall looked as if she were going to protest, but she said merely, "Whatever you think is best. Should I go fetch Albus?"

Pomfrey sighed. "Yes, I suppose you had better. Although I'm going to need to have a talk with that man sooner or later." McGonagall swept out and returned with Dumbledore within moments.

"I've got him stable," Pomfrey told him as he gazed upon the limp body. "I gave him the Draught, so he'll be out cold for another two hours or so. He was trapped in a memory, and you managed to shock him out of it."

Dumbledore nodded. "Were you able to find out why?" When Pomfrey shook her head, he nodded again, tapping his foot. "Miss Johnson," he said with a nod to the girl beside the bed who nodded back awkwardly. McGonagall recognized her as the new fifth year student.

"Would you be so kind as to remain here with Professor Snape?" he asked her. "I believe Madam Pomfrey wishes to speak with me in private, and McGonagall had best be getting back to her office in case she is needed."

"Yessir," the girl said, eyeing Snape's prone form. "I'll come get you when he wakes up."

"Good girl. Well, Poppy? Shall we?" Dumbledore gestured to the doorway. Pomfrey glared at him as she passed and he followed her out the door to her private offices. McGonagall glanced at the girl before she left.  
"You're certain you'll be alright here alone, Miss Johnson?" she asked. The girl nodded and sat gingerly on the edge of a chair by the wall. McGonagall took one last worried glance at Snape before she too left the room.

When she had come up to the Hospital Wing for a bit of burn salve, Lydia Johnson wasn't expecting to find the entire Hogwarts staff rushing around the crowded room. Well, not exactly _all_ the staff, but it had certainly seemed that way at the time.

She'd burned her finger quite badly during Herbology when she'd accidentally stepped on the tail of a SnapDragon and Professor Sprout had sent her up for some salve. "Chaos" was a good word to describe the scene she found when she set foot in the Hospital Wing. "Complete and utter pandemonium" were a few more.

"Oof!" Lydia dodged around another fleeing student who had gotten caught in the mess only to run smack into something large and solid. "Sorry, Hagrid! What's going on here, anyway?"

Rubeus Hagrid looked down at her, his usually friendly whiskered face troubled and grim. "Snape," he told her. "Had some sorta fit. Pomfrey's seein' t' 'im right now, and she ain't 'appy, I'll tell ya. Best wait afore goin' in t' see 'er."

Lydia frowned. What could be wrong that it was cause for so many people to be crammed into the Hospital Wing? And what could make Hagrid look so- grim? "Is it serious?"

"We don't know yet," Hagrid said. "Pomfrey ain't tellin'." He frowned and shook his head, muttering to himself. "I'm goin' back to me hut, can't do any good 'ere."

Lydia watched him leave, then risked poking her head inside the hospital proper. If she thought the waiting room was chaotic, that was nothing to what was going on inside.

"You!"

Lydia jumped as the Mediwitch Pomfrey pointed and shouted at her. "Get me some water and cold towels. Hurry!"

Something in the Mediwitch's voice told her this was not the time to ask questions. Without a moments hesitation, Lydia turned and rushed to the nearest bathroom where she found a large stack of clean towels and a basin that she could fill with water. When she returned, she almost ran into Headmaster Dumbledore on his way out. Pomfrey beckoned her in and took both items. "Minerva, I need you here with me. You too, dear," she said with a look at Lydia. Not knowing what else to do, she backed off towards the wall and watched.  
"What's wrong with him, Poppy? How could I have set him off like that?"

"Couldn't have been helped. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but my guess is he came looking for Dumbledore and got himself caught up in a memory. Did he say anything that struck you as particularly strange?"

"What, other than screaming that I was trying to kill him and he was going to kill me first?"

"Aside from the usual suspects, yes."

"He called me Emily."

Lydia felt a sick twist in the pit of her stomach as McGonagall spoke.

"He said he was sick of me lying to him, and he wasn't going to take it anymore. And he called me Emily."

Emily. Lydia's hands flew up to her mouth. There was a name she hadn't heard in years, and hadn't ever wanted to hear again. Emily, her mother's sister, her aunt. The only one in her family ever to become a Death Eater.

_Coincidence_, she told herself firmly as Pomfrey and McGonagall continued to talk. _There was no last name, it could have been anyone_._ You don't even know this Snape, other than in class_._ It's just a coincidence_.

Her thoughts were cut off just then as Snape suddenly arched and began thrashing, his body stiff and bent. He howled in a voice so full of unworldly despair that it sent shivers of something unnamable down her spine. She clamped her hands over her ears, but it was futile; the sound cut through her very being. Pomfrey was shouting something, but she couldn't hear what. By the look of things, however, Lydia thought she might be telling them both to help her hold Snape down. She rushed over with McGonagall and grabbed his wrists, trying to pin him to the mattress through sheer body weight. His convulsions increased until Lydia was unsure whether or not she would be able to hold on, but she strained, trying to keep Snape down and avoid getting struck in the face by any of the flailing limbs. Then abruptly the convulsions ceased and he lay still on the bed.

_Still as death_, Lydia thought absently, her arms still shaking with the effort of holding the man down. He certainly looked dead, laying there limp, his face almost the same color as the sheets he lay on. When she looked closely, Lydia could see the slight rise and fall of his chest but other than that there was no sign of life in the Potions Master.

"-Draught of Living Death," Pomfrey finished.

Lydia looked up. She hadn't been paying attention to what the two teachers were saying, but she had caught that last bit as clearly as if the Mediwitch had shouted it in her ear. No wonder Snape looked as though he were dead- he might as well be for all that his body reacted now.

At some point while Lydia had been lost in thought, McGonagall had gone for Dumbledore. She waited while Pomfrey gave him the diagnosis, uncertain whether to stay and unwilling to leave. Just then, it seemed as if Dumbledore noticed her for the first time. "Miss Johnson."

She nodded, unsure what to say. Luckily for her, Dumbledore continued.

"Would you be so kind as to remain here with Professor Snape?" he asked her. "I believe Madam Pomfrey wishes to speak with me in private, and McGonagall had best be getting back to her office in case she is needed."

"Yessir." She nodded. Given, she didn't really _want_ to be here, but if the Headmaster said so- "I'll come get you when he wakes up."

"Good girl." Dumbledore left, Pomfrey in the lead. That left McGonagall. After making sure the girl was settled, she departed too.

Lydia sat on the edge of a nearby chair, studying the man on the bed. His stillness was almost eerie; she shuddered to think of what he would look like with no air in his lungs, no heart beating in his chest. The only thing that didn't look dead was his face- the sharp features were distorted in a grimace of pain that looked so permanent Lydia could not imagine what he would look like without it.

Suddenly she became frightened of being alone in the room with no one but what amounted to a living corpse. She looked around, but there was no sign of life in the Hospital Wing, save the rapidly rising voices coming from Pomfrey's office. It was early enough in the year that no student had yet had the opportunity to hurt themselves badly enough to have to spend the night. She felt terribly alone. Outside she heard the wind howling and branches scraping across the window panes. The sound sent chills down her spine as she sat, clutching her hands together on her lap.

_Eighteen years old and afraid of the wind_, she scolded herself. _What a load of tosh_._ Get a hold of yourself_.

It helped a little. At least it helped her get a hold of her shaking hands and let her breathe a bit easier. As the wind continued to howl she remembered a small tune her mother used to sing to her when she had been a young child and afraid of the wind. She hummed it now and began to sing softly as the words came back to her.

__

"V'là l' bon vent, v'là l' joli vent  
V'là l' bon vent, ma amour m'appelle,  
V'là l' bon vent, v'là l' joli vent-

"_V'là l' bon vent, ma amour m'attend_."

Lydia nearly shrieked in fear and startlment as a dry, harsh voice rose from the direction of the bed. She looked over at Snape, her heart in her throat.

The Potions Master had risen onto one elbow and was looking at her strangely, having emerged from his potion induced stupor without warning, and at least an hour earlier than Pomfrey had said he would.

"I-"

Snape crooked one long finger at her, beckoning her over to the side of the bed. Mutely, her throat still dry with fear, she rose and walked over.

"Where did you learn that song?" Snape asked her, his voice a dry whisper.

"M-my mother used to s-sing to me when I was young," Lydia told him in a voice no louder than his. "When we lived in France."

Snape nodded, leaning back against the pillows. "What was her name?"

"Juliana. Juliana Johnson." Was it her imagination, or did she see him wince beneath the sheets?

"Julia-" he whispered. Lydia started.

"How did you know we called her that?" she asked, more sharply than she intended. "And why do I always see you looking at me so strangely? Who _are_ you, anyway?" And how the hell did he wake so soon? Her voice rose with every question. Snape chuckled, but there was pain behind his voice.

"So she didn't talk about me. Hmm, well, I suppose it wasn't to be expected. Not something you'd care to brag about, Slytherin and Ravenclaw."

"You- you knew my mother?" Lydia demanded incredulously.

Snape nodded distractedly. "Yes. Yes, I suppose you could say that." He smiled thinly. "We went to school together. I taught her how to brew potions, she taught me what it was to be human." Seeing Lydia's look of confusion, he explained. "She and I were in a...relationship together," he said, bitterness hinting his words. "It was brief. She had to leave rather quickly, it seemed, and it wouldn't have lasted if she had stayed. It was- just a bit of fun, really. We were young and didn't know what we were doing."

"Oh." Lydia wasn't sure what to say. "So you and her were...a couple?"

"Yes, you could say that." Snape eyed her carefully, his black eyes sharp. "You look a lot like her, you know."

For some reason she couldn't understand, Lydia blushed. She glanced away, quickly changing the subject. "How did you-? The Draught, I mean. Pomfrey said you were going to be out for another hour at least."

Snape scowled, then laughed, a harsh, biting sound. "Call it a life lived among potions," was all he said, then laughed again. "Pay me no mind," he told her. "No one else does. Just put it all down to the ravings of a mad lunatic." There was a gleam in his eyes that had not been there before. Lydia doubted it was either tears or mirth that made his black irises shine so. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"P-professor Dumbledore asked me to stay here," she said. "In case you woke up, or started having convulsions again, I guess. He went to talk with Madam Pomfrey." She winced as a particularly loud shriek echoed through the walls. "They've been going at it hammer and tongs. I wonder what they're arguing about, anyway."

"Me." Snape lay back among the pillows, his eyes closed. "Dumbledore- did something Pomfrey didn't approve of. I imagine she's explaining to Dumbledore exactly why he should cease doing it immediately, using my present state as a reason." He smiled thinly, and Lydia shuddered as the voices rose and fell again. "I wonder what the outcome will be."

Once again, there was obviously more going on around here than what met the eye, but Lydia didn't press. Whether it was because she didn't want to be nosy or was too afraid of what she might find out, she didn't know. She didn't want to know.

"_NO!_ Albus, no you _can't_. I'm telling you, if you want that boy to live until next term, you _will not_-"

Lydia and Snape both jumped as the door flew open and Pomfrey and Dumbledore barged in. Apparently, the tail end of their argument was still in full swing.

"Poppy, _enough_!" Dumbledore near-shouted. His voice rose not in anger, Lydia noticed, but simply in order to be heard above the Mediwitch's own shouting. Pomfrey fell silent, rebuked. Dumbledore turned to where Snape lay on the bed, startled but alert. "Awake so soon, Severus?"

Snape grunted and made a barely discernible motion with his left arm. Dumbledore looked hard at the sleeve of his robe as his eyes narrowed, then widened. "I see," was all he said.

"Albus, please, listen to me!" Lydia was surprised to see Madam Pomfrey on the verge of tears. "Please, just let it wait, it can wait! You don't have to tell him now. It's too soon!"

"Severus-" Dumbledore began, ignoring Pomfrey's pleading.

"_Albus!_" With a dismal wail, Pomfrey buried her face in her hands and fled.

Dumbledore sighed as he watched her go, then turned back to Snape. "Severus-" he began again, but this time it was Snape himself who cut him off with a jerk of his head. Lydia felt two pairs of eyes swivel in her direction and suddenly felt very unwanted.

"I'll go see if Madam Pomfrey's alright," she whispered and ran from the room.


	3. Never Let Them Know You Hurt

"He did _what_?"

"Apparently he had a relationship with my mum," Lydia repeated to her wide-eyed friend. They were walking out on their way to the Quidditch field for team practice, brooms in hand, as Lydia related the happenings of the previous night. She blinked sleepily as they dropped their bags at the edge of the field. By the time she had finally made it to the Ravenclaw dorms and literally fallen into bed, it was past midnight.

"That's....ugh!" Thomas shuddered as he inspected his broom. "Who would _want_ to be in a relationship with that ugly, greasy bastard? I mean, _really-_ the man's a snake!" Suddenly, he caught Lydia's eye.

"Thomas," she said, her tone too neutral to be taken at face value, "this is my _mum_ we're talking about. Remember?"

"Uh- yeah. Sorry, Lyd. Forgot for a moment..." he trailed off, taking great pains to inspect the bristles of his broom although he had already checked them twice. "But still!" he said after only a moment. "Still...Snape could have been your _father_." He stared at her, broom forgotten. "That's just _weird_."

"Tell me about it. But he said that it could never last, that it was just a bit of...fun. He seemed real sad about it." Lydia frowned. "He said I looked a lot like her."

"Great." Thomas gave her a pointed look. "I've got crazed Slytherins out to fail me in Potions, and you've got crazed Slytherins out to seduce you. Wonderful."

"_Thomas!_"

"All right, all right!" Thomas held up his hands. "I'll stop. Forget I even mentioned it."

"Good." They mounted up and kicked off, soaring high into the air above the Quidditch field. But as she flew over to her post by the goals at one end of the field, Lydia was aware of a certain odd feeling the in pit of her stomach, the same one she had gotten when Snape first told her she resembled her mother. Again, she felt her face grow hot and flushed, and she knew it wasn't from the effort of flying.

_Don't be a fool_, she thought to herself fiercely. _He was your mother's bloke, and now he's your teacher_._ Nothing more, nothing less_._ He's the same man you knew when you first saw him in class_. Something inside her, though, was not quite convinced. Luckily for her, the rest of the team showed up at the field just then and joined the two of them in the air. When Roger Davies released the crate of balls, there was no time for idle thought.

"Jay, get out of there! You're supposed to be _helping_ your team get the Quaffle, not knocking them off their brooms! Thomas, swing that bat a little harder, it's not gonna break! Even if it does, then you have two of 'em to use against the Bludgers!"

Davies voice soon dominated the field, driving all thought from Lydia's mind as she roved restlessly around the goals. Twice she thought the Chaser from the "other" team was going to break through, but twice Thomas beat him back with a Bludger. With their limited amount of players, Davies had arranged two "teams" for scrimmages, one Chaser and one Beater on each team, with her and Davies acting as Keepers, though in real games Davies played Chaser. Since Cho Chang was the only one that didn't have a real opponent, she used this time to practice her skills at simply spotting and retrieving the Snitch, releasing it each time she caught it.

"No, Cho! I want you up there, above all this. You can see the field better from up there, and I don't want to risk you getting brained with a Bludger. Oi! Lydia! You awake down there? Don't slack off just because there's only one Chaser trying to get through. There's only one Beater to keep him away!"

"You just take care of Roger Davies," she muttered to herself as she flew back and forth. "I know what I'm doing."

_There_. Thomas took a nasty blow from a well aimed Bludger and went spinning out of control. Jay Young saw his chance and swooped down low, the Quaffle safe in his arms. He dodged neatly around the other Chaser, evading her reaching arms and darted straight up towards the goal. Lydia bent low over her broom, the air whistling past her as she sped to intercept him, narrowing her eyes against the rushing wind. "Oh no you don't, laddy," she said, too quietly to be heard over the wind. Just a fraction of a second more and- _there!_

She slammed into the tail end of Jay's broom, realizing a heartbeat to late that her timing had been off. No matter; Jay's broom went spinning sideways as he shouted in surprise, the Quaffle jarred from his arms by the force of their impact. Taylor was already there, catching it as it dropped. She sped off with a wink at Lydia.

The Ravenclaw Keeper hauled her broom around, nearly flipping herself over in the process. Jay had gotten himself back under control and was speeding towards the other end of the field, intent on getting the Quaffle back. Too late, though. Taylor already had the lead and Thomas, who had recovered from the blow- although his flying was still a bit crooked- had already engaged the other Beater in a bout of Bludger beating. The only one who could stop the Quaffle now was Davies.

Lydia heard the whoop before she saw what happened and grinned, knowing Taylor had successfully gotten past Davies and sunk the Quaffle. She spun a little on her broom in a silent cheer before regrouping on the ground with the others.

"Not bad, guys," Davies said, addressing each of them in turn. "Taylor, top marks for being alert and ready when Jay dropped the Quaffle, then getting it sunk. Remember, though, in a real game you're going to have to get past someone who's trained to block goals, not just a Chaser filling in. Thomas, I don't know what kind of vendetta you've got against Widge, but please keep in mind that this is not a one on one Bludger match." The team laughed as Thomas grinned and nodded. "Good job, though. Lydia, that was a good save you made against Jay, but your timing was a little off. Cho, you've got to wake up a bit up there. I saw the Snitch twice from where I was, but you made no move to get it." Cho nodded, her pretty face serious. "Right, let's do tactics. Lydia, you man the goals, we'll be coming at you in a variety of maneuvers. Do the best you can. Thomas, I want you beating _away_ from her. Widge, you're working with us. Got that? Mount up!"

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, with Lydia blocking Quaffle after Quaffle, sometimes successfully, other times not so. By the end of practice she was tired, sore, bruised and generally knocked about. Davies had insisted on the three Chasers repeating the Hawkshead Attacking Formation until they had it more or less down pat. Unfortunately for Lydia, that meant she had to not only figure out a way to stop the oncoming Chasers, but also perfect those blocks as they came at her again and again. By the time the oncoming dusk forced them the land, she could barely get off her broom.

"How did I ever get so out of shape?" she moaned as she walked back to the castle with Thomas. The Ravenclaw Beater had still not fully recovered from his collision with the Bludger and was walking in a rather crooked line.

"Dunno," he slurred as he felt the rather large lump that had formed on the back of his head. "Gah, this is going to hurt tomorrow."

"Just be thankful it's Saturday and we won't have to go to classes." Lydia winced and reached up to rub at the back of her neck. "I don't even know if I can make it back to the Tower at this rate. I might just crash in the Great Hall."

"I'm with you on that."

Somehow or other, Lydia made it to the Ravenclaw Tower and managed to land on the bed as her legs gave out from under her. Cho Chang came in right behind her.

"I'm too tired to even eat right now," the Seeker complained as she flopped onto her bed with a groan. "Davies had best keep an eye on what he's doing. We won't be any good against _anyone_ if we can't even keep ourselves awake during the game."

"First practice of the year- I guess he's a little...enthusiastic." Lydia rolled over on her back, staring at the ceiling. "I'm going to see Quaffles and Bludgers coming at me every time I close my eyes. I'm going to have _dreams_ about them. I can tell." She gave Cho a sly look out of the corner of her eye. "What say you we slip a little sleeping draught in his pumpkin juice tonight so we can have a restful weekend?"

"Ooh, can I be in on this too?" Taylor O'Shea sat gingerly on this foot of Lydia's bed. "That was just too much after too little. Doesn't Davies know _anything_ about getting back into the swing of things before running his players into the ground?"

Cho chuckled unmercifully. "Just be glad we're not Gryffindors," she told them. "I hear that Oliver Wood's got them out on the field at dawn, rain, shine or what have you."

"Ugh, I don't even want to _think_ about that." Taylor shuddered. "But I still think the sleeping draught's a good idea. Do you want to put it in, or can I? Lydia?"

Lydia started as Taylor shook her gently. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I kinda lost myself there." She frowned as memory began to take over her. _Sleeping draught_...

"You're probably just tired," Taylor yawned. "I know I am. Probably gonna fall asleep in the middle of supper tonight." She stood and stretched. "Shall we, then? No point dawdling up here. If I stay here too long, I'm gonna fall asleep and miss my only chance to eat."

"I'm too bloody tired to care," Cho said as she struggled to rise from the bed. "The bed's so warm, and soft, and comfortable, and-"

"Enough!" Taylor covered her ears with her hands and laughed. "I'm never going to get out of here if you keep that up. Let's go! Coming, Lyd?"

Lydia blinked sleepily. "Yeah...in a minute...give me a second to summon the energy to stand up..." She stretched and groaned as she felt her back and neck crack. "I'm going to be sore in the morning, let me tell you."

The three of them trudged down to the Great Hall where supper was already in full swing. They took their places at the Ravenclaw table. Lydia ate quickly and automatically, she barely even registered what was on her plate. Several times she was elbowed awake by Taylor before she could fall face first onto her plate. It wasn't until they were back up in the Tower that she realized something had slipped her mind.

"Drat and blast!" she scowled, turning on her heel in front of the portrait door. "I forgot something," she explained to her startled friends. _Was he at supper? I didn't notice- if he wasn't he's probably still in the Hospital Wing_._ Maybe if he's still there I can catch him_.... "Nah, don't bother waiting, I'll be up in a bit. Password, Taylor?"

"Phoenix Tear. You sure you don't want some of us to come with you?"

"It'll only take a minute. Wait for me inside." Lydia turned and ran back down the stairs before either of them could ask any further questions. She hadn't told anyone except Thomas what had happened last night after she had run from the Hospital Wing, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to deal with it herself just then. Plus, Dumbledore might not want word getting around that Hogwarts' Potions Master was prone to fits, blackouts and could throw off the Draught of Living Death like an old blanket.

Come to think of it, she had never figured out exactly how he had been able to do that. Obviously Dumbledore had been able to figure it out, judging by his reaction to Snape's rather cryptic signals. Wasn't the Draught supposed to put any living being under in a sleep almost as deep as death? Yet Snape had awoken from it without warning, hours before it should have been possible...

Lydia was so engrossed in thought that she nearly missed the last step to go flying into a nearby wall. She managed to catch herself before she went sprawling, but as a result ran headlong into a student she recognized as Mitchell Sarrington, one of the Slytherin Chasers.

"Watch it," he snarled, tearing his robes free from her grip and nearly sending her stumbling again. "Stupid girl."

"Prick," she said under her breath as she watched him head grandly down the stairs to the Slytherin common room. Was it her imagination, or did she hear him snicker as he descended down the stone stairway?

Snape was no where to be found when she entered the Great Hall. His usual seat at the end of the table was empty and it looked as if it had been unoccupied for some time. Frowning, Lydia scanned the huge room once more before ducking back out into the hallway.

_Hospital Wing_, she decided. As she navigated her way through Hogwarts' winding corridors she asked herself for the first time since last night exactly _why_ she was so adamant about finding Snape. As far as she was concerned, Thomas was right. He was a greasy, heartless bastard who favored none but his own and to hell with everyone else. His only good qualities were that first off, the man was a genius in his own right. The only mind that may rival his own would be Professor McGonagall. Second, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he was the undisputed Master when it came to working with Potions. He could read a simmering cauldron as clearly as most people read books, he knew exactly when to add which ingredient and how much after making the damn thing only once, and there was not a potion in the book the students were given that Snape didn't know inside and out.

Still, that was no reason for Lydia to go searching him out when she had other perfectly useful things she could be doing. Sleeping, for instance. Why then, was she out roaming the halls in search of a man she didn't at _all_ care for?

_Curiosity always got the best of you, that's why_. Her mouth quirked a little. The fact that Snape had been in a relationship with her mother certainly played a huge role in it. Lydia never knew much about her mother's school days; Juliana had been carefully private whenever Lydia broached the subject. Now she had unexpectedly come across someone who had known her mother better than anyone back then, and she wasn't going to let the opportunity to learn more slip by.

She pushed open the door to the Hospital Wing and shut it softly behind her. There was no noise in the infirmary as she walked quietly across and poked her head in.

"Miss Johnson."

Lydia jumped at the sound of her name and looked over at the source of the voice. Snape was lying in one of the beds, propped up on a pile of pillows. "I was wondering when you were going to show up."

"You- you knew I was coming?" she squeaked in surprise.

"Students are all the same. They never learned the lesson that curiosity killed the cat. In more ways than one, might I add." He motioned her over wearily. "Might as well get this over with. Have you come about last night, or to ask about your mother?"

Lydia blinked at him. "My mother. How did you-?"

Snape snorted and rolled his eyes. "As I said, students never change. You're all so- predictable. Now," he said as he raised himself up a bit higher. "About your mother. Start by telling me what _you_ know of her."

Lydia was taken aback at the sudden turn of the table. "She never really talked about her school days here," she said hesitantly. "The only things I know about Hogwarts came from my father, Halloway. We all call him Hal."

"Hal?" Snape looked at her sharply, his black eyes glittering. "Hal Curtiss?" Lydia nodded. "I always wondered about them...I suppose it all makes sense now."

"Yeah, I gather they got married soon after they graduated. I was born a few years later. My mother never changed her name, she said Johnson had been good enough for her and her family for so many years that she saw no reason to give it up. I was given the choice when I was old enough."

"You chose Johnson, I see." Snape gave her that strange look again, his eyes distant, as if though he was seeing something in her that no one else was supposed to know about. "You take after your mother in so many ways." His eyes cleared as he blinked, and he waved his hand absently. "Continue."

Lydia shrugged. "That's about it," she said. "My parents moved to France a few years ago; my father works with Gringotts, and my mother's an Auror. She- are you alright?"

Snape had gone deathly pale at the mention of her mother. Lydia stopped, not sure whether she should be concerned. "Should I go get Madam Pomfrey? Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, I- it's nothing." Snape shook his head and scowled, but it seemed directed internally, not at Lydia. "I'm fine."

"If you say so." Lydia felt that there was something more than what appeared on the surface and that she could figure it out if she just thought about it hard enough. For the time being, however, it escaped her. "I started school at Beauxbatons a year late because of my father's traveling schedule. After four years of schooling in France, my parents decided that I should finish up here at Hogwarts, where they had gone."

"Yes, that sounds like something Hal would want. Still a Hogwarts Gryffindor to the last, I see." Snape didn't bother to explain, but began his own narration instead. "Your mother and I met in our fourth year. I believe the first time she addressed me, it was by calling me a stupid git." His stare was pointed. "No doubt your friend Mr. Applegate has referred to me by that term a few times." Lydia flushed, but said nothing. "We started off rather...badly. She ended up feeling guilty and I punched a wall. That's a different story for another time," he said, noticing her confusion. "Your mother, however, was a very outgoing person. She couldn't stand to see people unhappy. Not even me." Snape's bitter smile was so filled with self-loathing Lydia had to look away. "She forced us into a reconciliation of sorts. I didn't know it at the time, but that's when I believe I fell in love with her." He sneered at the memory. Lydia noticed he seemed to have two main expressions, sneering and scowling; the latter was usually directed towards the rest of the world, the former towards himself.

"I don't know what would have happened if it wasn't for dear Professor Carroay. I have nothing else to thank that man for, and I don't believe anyone of my classmates did either. He was a useless man, and for that I thank him."

"I beg your pardon?" Lydia blinked in confusion, trying to sort out what Snape could possibly mean.

"Your mother was a dismal failure at Potions," Snape said bluntly. "Carroay was no help. That left me. It was in the dungeons where I suppose you could say our brief relationship really took off." He snorted, but Lydia heard the distinct softening of the bitter Professor's tone when he spoke of her mother. "She was the only fourth year I ever knew who couldn't brew a simple shrinking solution. Not even your friend Applegate is that incompetent."

Lydia felt her face heat and she had a scathing retort ready on the tip of her tongue when she realized that Snape was teasing her. She was so surprised almost swallowed her tongue. She gaped at him, wondering if she had heard him correctly, if she had misinterpreted his tone. But he was still looking at her in that peculiar manner, his black eyes glittering. She suddenly became aware of what she was doing and shut her mouth with a snap, hiding her smile behind her hand. "You must have been really fond of her." If simply talking about her mother put him in such a mood, then he must have been a different person entirely when he was actually with her.

"You have a penchant for understatement, don't you?"

"What's it to you?" she shot back and immediately wished she hadn't. Snape's jaw tightened visibly, and his eyes lost their shine. "I'm sorry," she said awkwardly, trying to bring back the man who had been there just seconds ago. "I didn't mean it like that. I was just-"

But Snape shook his head, cutting her off. "It's not you," he said, probably more harshly than he intended. "But one can only hear those words so many times before they begin to wear away at one's inner mind. When word of our- my and Julia's- little _liaison_ got out, there were more than a few people who were quite willing to tell me the same thing. I had no business consorting with a Ravenclaw, and _certainly_ not one as pretty as your mother." His words were mocking, and it took Lydia a second to realize that Snape was directing them at _himself_. Her heart filled with an indescribable pity for the man whom no one believed deserved anything, and who agreed with them wholeheartedly. She longed to do something- to say something but she knew Snape was not a man who would accept anyone's pity, and certainly not a student's. She kept silent, but some part of her still wept for the man who had nothing left but memories of what might have been.

"What time is it?" The change of subject was so abrupt Lydia didn't even wonder at it until after she answered.

"Supper was just ending in the Great Hall when I came here. There were only about a dozen students left."

Snape nodded. "Time for you to go," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It had been most...enlightening."

"Likewise, I'm certain," Lydia said under her breath as she turned to go. She turned as she reached the door. "Do you know when we should expect you back in class?" Now where had _that_ question come from?

"By the beginning of next week for certain. Until then, unless the Headmaster has found adequate supervision for you, you have until next week off. I will see you then, Miss Johnson."

Lydia felt the dismissal keenly and blushed, ashamed that Snape had believed her motives for asking so juvenilely selfish. Yet why _had_ she asked? She shook her head; she was too tired to think right now. All she wanted to do was make it up the stairs to the Ravenclaw Tower, find her bed and pass out for the next twenty four hours. Weariness slurred her words so badly it took three tries before the portrait could understand the password and let her in. By that time, the world at the edge of her vision had grown fuzzy and she barely made it to her bed before everything went gray, then black. Lydia Johnson was out for the count.

Back in the Hospital Wing, Severus Snape was having a more difficult time reaching the empty oblivion he craved every night, the same restful state of nothingness that eluded him time after time. He tossed restlessly, closing his eyes for the countless time only to open them seconds later.

Tonight he thought he knew the reason of his sleeplessness. While there had always been nights in which his nightmares had given way to more pleasant- but no less painful- memories of days spent in her company and nights in her arms, never had his mind been so filled with the sound of her laughter and the scent of her hair. And all because of that girl, Lydia.

He did not disillusion himself; he knew for certain that his newest bout of memories was brought about by the unexpected appearance of Julia's daughter. After all, how could he _not_ be affected? The young Ravenclaw looked just enough like her mother to create a spasm in Snape's heart every time he saw her. Yet she resembled her father, too, and that fact drove home the point that Snape had, as in so many other things, lost to another. Lydia was Hal's child, not his, and never would be. Julia had chosen Hal over him, and who wouldn't? He was everything a girl could want, strong, handsome, tall, good natured. A Gryffindor to the core. What girl in her right mind would turn him down in favor of a sickly, short tempered Slytherin? _Yet she had, even if only for a short while_...

Snape started to brush his thoughts aside impatiently, but something made him stop. He had been repressing his memories for so long now that he had forgotten what it was like just to let them take him over. He had lived without them for so long that when they broke loose from his control he could no longer even function. Yesterday evening had proven that, and his current residence in the Hospital Wing was even stronger proof of the matter. There were only so many times he could let that happen, and the fewer the better. Weeks spent recovering in the Hospital Wing because he couldn't keep a grip on reality just weren't feasible. He knew what he had to do, he just wasn't certain he could do it- it had been so long since he had last delved into the farthest reaches of his own mind he was no longer even certain what he would find there.

_Severus Snape, ex-Death Eater, frightened by his own memories?_ The voice was back, mocking him as he had so often mocked himself. Snape scowled and tried to block it out, but the more he tried the worse it became.

_Strange how you were never bothered by the screams of the people you killed_, it went on mercilessly. _Strange how their faces never came back to haunt your sleep, how you buried them as easily as you buried their corpses_.

Untrue! he wanted to scream. Untrue, that was a lie. They had, their voices had followed him first in sleep, then even after he had woken. They reached with their dead hands and hollow voices beyond the realm of sleep until every moment of his existence was a waking nightmare. It got to the point that driving the memories so far back into his mind was the only way to keep from going mad.

_You talk of keeping yourself sane, and yet you still have arguments with a voice in your head? You may just want to reassess your position_...

Angry now, Snape shut his eyes tightly as if that would drive the voice away. And yet he couldn't but help to wonder if maybe the voice was right. Maybe he had lost his mind, just didn't realize it yet. Maybe Voldemort really had driven him over the edge, right into the realm of insanity. If that was the case, then maybe it wasn't so bad...

At least, if it wasn't for the damn voice. It never seemed to go away, it just went into remission for a while, coming back when it felt it had to make a point. Good God, he was thinking of it as a whole separate entity now, not just a part of him. What next, was he going to name the thing? He just couldn't imagine the voice with a mundane name like Henry, or Rob. He snickered just to think of it, then realized what he was doing.

Good God, he _was_ going mad!

All of a sudden, Snape wanted to laugh, to scream and to cry. The world seemed to be spinning out of control and he felt terribly alone. He wanted someone there with him, Pomfrey, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Julia, anyone. Even Lydia. Anyone would be better than the terrible aching loneliness that was descending on him. He had been alone all his life, ever since Julia had left him. He made as if that were the way he wanted it, had done so for so long that he began to believe it himself. But too often he would be unable to hide the wince as other teachers carefully avoided him, as students whispered insults and rumors behind his back. Too often he would lay there in the darkness of his room and whisper to himself that he didn't care, then wonder why he had to try and convince himself. He knew why. He told himself he didn't care because he was afraid to face the truth; he was afraid to come to grips with the fact that the minute he stopped pushing the world away he would find out that it was really the world pushing away him. He told himself time and time again that he didn't care about anyone or anything, but at the same time he was terrified that no one cared about him.

And so he held the world at bay, captive of his own dark fears and insecurities. He covered his life with lies that hurt him as much as anyone else because he was afraid of what the truth might be, and that it might hurt him more. He was afraid the life he lived _was_ a lie. Perhaps it was not so, but he couldn't risk finding out. Not now, and not ever.

Yet it _hurt_, dammit. It hurt so badly that Snape sometimes feared it would kill him or drive him off the brink of madness. If it hadn't already. The pain grew greater with every passing day that he kept it locked up, and he knew that it would continue to grow until he could no longer contain it. What would happen then was anyone's guess, but he knew for certain he would not live through it.

He was a time bomb, and he knew it. When all hell broke lose, he knew he would have only one person to blame: himself. When the dam did break, there would be no few innocents crushed in the rising flood, and he knew they didn't deserve to die under the hands of a madman who could not bring himself to admit he was afraid. Where was the fairness in that?

Even as he thought it, Snape knew he could never bear to tell another living soul what lay in the shadows of his heart and mind. Even if he could, who would care? Who gave a damn about the sallow, sunken shell of a man that called himself a Potions Master? He was just another shadow in the Hospital Wing, another body to be patched and sent out again, to infuse others with his knowledge, others more personable than he so that he could be killed off all the quicker with none of his teachings lost. He was bringing closer his own death with every class that passed through the dungeons. As more and more students mastered his craft, his own usefulness ran out until he could be safely killed off. He was not a Professor, but a walking corpse, bringing closer the time when it could be buried and forgotten.

He lay back in the silent Hospital Wing, eyes shut tight against the emptiness of the room. The silence did not bother him now, he had grown so used to it that not even the heavy ringing disturbed him. It sadden him, that fact, but not so much that he couldn't mix it all up with the rest of the burden he carried on his shoulders, diffusing the emotion like he would a potent ingredient, until it was as dilute and harmless as he could make it. What else was there to do in a world where no one cared about you, where people passed you by like a stray shadow gone missing from its body.

_Yet_ she_ had cared, for that one short time, she had cared_...

But now she was gone. She was gone and Snape would probably never see her again, and even if he did the meeting would bring nothing but pain. She was married now, to a man who was all the things Snape could never be and more. The closest he would ever come to her again was through her daughter, a selfish brat just like all the rest of them. Her father's child.

Silently, though there was no one around to see or hear, the river Styx flowed from that Hospital bed. Under the cold eyes of the moon, the river of unbreakable vows sprang to life from one sickly, tired body, a body too weak and fragile for such a momentous flood. Somewhere in the dark, empty Hospital Wing, Severus Snape turned his face to the wall and wept.


	4. Pain Shared

"Dumbledore, sir?" Hagrid poked his huge, hairy head in through the door to Dumbledore's office.

"Yes, Hagrid?"

"Coupla people here t' see ye. From the Ministry. Should I show 'em in?"

"Yes. Please do." Hagrid disappeared for a moment and returned, leading two men and a woman. The woman held a folded parchment in her hand, and all three of them were somber faced. Dumbledore motioned them inside. "Would you be so kind as to wait outside, Hagrid?"

"'Course. Jes' lemme know if ye need me." Hagrid nodded to the three strange wizards and took himself out. The three were Aurors, of that he had no doubt. They had come in saying they had a message to deliver to Dumbledore regarding one of his students. Judging by the looks on their faces, their news could not have been anything but bad.

He paced outside the door on the narrow landing, keeping his ears open for snatches of conversation. The voices were too low for him to make out the words, although sometimes he thought he could hear the woman's voice. "Wish they'd hurry themselves up a bit," he muttered to himself as he paced back and forth before the door. Step, step, turn. Step, step, turn. "They didn't look too keen about handing off that message. Wonder who it was about. Wonder _what_ it was about. Couldn't 'ave been good news, else they wouldn't of looked so grave 'bout it." Step, step, turn. Step, step, turn. "'M sure Dumbledore'll know how t' 'andle it, but I sure wish I knew what was going on. Never was one for waitin'. Wonder how much longer they'll be. Reckon it won't be much. Bad news never takes long t' pass on." Step, step, turn.

Hagrid paused again as the voices grew louder. He cast a quick glance around to see if anyone was watching, then put his ear to the door, feeling rather guilty as he did. "Jes' t' see if I can figger out who they're talkin' about," he told himself. "Not really lookin' t' eavesdrop." He fell silent, listening.

"...yesterday. We decided to let you know first and leave it to you to decide how to break the news."

"Of course." Dumbledore's voice was oddly subdued, carrying none of its usual lightness. "I will see to it immediately."

"We knew you would be able to take care of it," the woman said. "And please, convey our most sincere apologies. Her mother was a wonderful woman as well as a distinguished Auror. Her father, too was notable of commendation." She sighed, and there was the sound of folding parchment. "No one should have to go through this. War is an evil, unfair thing. And it's always the innocents who get the worst of it. The sooner _he_ is stopped, the sooner we can all breathe easier."

"By then, it will be too late for some," Dumbledore said quietly. "I thank you for your courtesy in delivering the news. I will see that it is passed on." The sound of scraping chairs as the four wizards rose to their feet. "Will you be leaving?"

"I'm afraid so. We have a report on Death Eater activity somewhere north of London we have to look into. Thank you for your time, Professor. And again, our most sincere apologies."

"Of course." This time the voices were quite near to the door. Hagrid jerked his head away just in time as the door swung open to admit the three Aurors. They nodded vaguely at Hagrid as they passed and disappeared down the stairs. Dumbledore stood by Hagrid's side as they watched them go.

"Hagrid, would you please fetch Miss Johnson?" he asked without looking at him. Hagrid nodded, then realized it was foolish since Dumbledore couldn't see. But Dumbledore smiled, though his old face was sad. "Thank you."

Head buzzing, Hagrid lumbered off down the stairs into the castle proper. Lessee, Lydia Johnson, fifth-year Ravenclaw. He remembered her vaguely, the black haired girl who had bumped into him the night Snape had allegedly attacked McGonagall. Ravenclaw fifth-years. They would be in Herbology right now, and that meant the greenhouses. So Hagrid pulled on his moleskin coat and headed out into the rapidly cooling October afternoon.

He found her in greenhouse two, his favorite building and home to some of the nastier plant species. He knocked once and let himself in, with a smile and a wave to Professor Sprout. "Kin I borrow one o' yer students?" he asked as he stroked the waving vines of a venomous tentacula. "Dumbledore wants t' see Lydia."

"Of course." Sprout finished patting mooncalf dung around the base of a baby devil's snare plant, slapping away the grasping vines. "She's over there."

Lydia was carefully tending to a rather large spiked plant with the help of another Ravenclaw Hagrid recognized as Thomas Applegate. He waited until the two seemed to have the plant well under control before engaging their attention.

"Lydia Johnson?" he asked, clearing his throat. The girl looked up at him, startled. "Dumbledore wants t' speak t' ye," he said. "Right now, if ye could." Frowning, Lydia carefully set down the stalks she was holding and followed Hagrid outside, accompanied by the good natured teasing of her house mates.

"Uh oh, busted!"

"What'd ya do now, Lyd?"

"Oooohh, Lydia's in trouble!"

As soon as they stepped outside and closed the door to the greenhouse, Lydia confronted Hagrid.

"So what's all this about, anyway?" she asked, her voice polite if a little insistent. "It's not about Professor Snape, is it?"

Hagrid gave her a hard look, wondering why she would ask. Then he remembered; she had been there when Snape was brought in and enlisted to help Madam Pomfrey in keeping him under control. Only natural that she would assume that was why she was being called up. But Hagrid only shrugged. "Dunno," he admitted as they walked. "Coupla people jes' talked to Dumbledore, couldn't hear what they were sayin', though. Didn't sound like good news. They looked like Aurors t' me." Strange, was it his imagination or did the girl's face just grow paler? "Could be wrong, though," he added hastily. "I didn't hear what went on."

"Mhm." Lydia was silent as they walked up the steps to Dumbledore's office and Hagrid was secretly relieved that he didn't have to answer any more questions. He had never liked being the bearer of bad tidings.

"In ye go," he said when they arrived at the door to Dumbledore's office. "If ye want, I'll wait to walk ye back t' class." But she shook her head and disappeared behind the door. Hagrid shrugged and walked off. "Back t' me hut, then," he said to himself. "Gonna see if those pumpkin's'll be ready in time fer Halloween. Should probably check on those flesh eatin' slugs, while I'm at it. Damn things always in the cabbages." Hagrid wandered off, still muttering to himself, blissfully unaware of what was going on behind the door to Dumbledore's office.

Students passed, shouting, chattering, laughing and arguing as students do. Lydia Johnson heard none of it. A sophomore ran into her, nearly bowling them both over; she barely noticed. Words, faces, robes, voices, noise- it wrapped around her like a blanket, slowly suffocating her. She didn't care. None of it made sense, nothing registered in her clouded mind except the words that rang through to the core of her being like the chorus of a thousand screaming angels.

She walked slowly from Dumbledore's office, feeling her legs tremble with every step. She put her hand out to catch herself, then realized that she wasn't falling. At least, not physically. She half expected to hear a voice calling her back; she had risen and left without a word to Dumbledore after he broke the news, not waiting to hear anything else. None of it would have mattered anyway.

Suddenly she was running, pushing past the milling students with a desperation born of the knowledge that she had to get out, out away from the voices, the press of bodies, of eyes and faces, of jumbled words, the oppressive heat of too many people packed too close. Out, away to be alone, to clear her mind, to think, to mourn.

She ran like a hunter, or a hunted thing, ducking through doors, dodging students, statues, gargoyles. Suits of armour clanked in protest as she rushed by but she refused to look back. Once she stumbled, tripped and fell as a crystal lattice of light danced over and across her vision. She blinked back the tears and was running again.

There were fewer and fewer people in the halls as she ran down, down, down until she was the only one left, hurrying down the corridors without knowing where or why, only that if she stopped she might never start again, not then, not ever.

She ran so hard so fast with such a narrow single-mindedness that she lost track of where she was, where she ran to. She barely noticed as the walls grew damper, the floors sloped downward and the steady drip, drip, drip of water that echoed through the halls. The air grew colder, thinner and sharper; it pained her lungs with every strangled breath. She ran with her head down, not caring if she ran into wall or stone. If she did, then maybe it would fill the empty hollow in her heart.

But what she ran into was not a wall. Walls were not thin and angular, walls didn't wear black and go "oomph!" when you hit them. Walls didn't glare.

"Miss Johnson." Snape's voice was cold as he stared down at her, straightening his robes. "What are you-" His sentence trailed off and Lydia felt long fingers under her chin, lifting her face to the dim light. She blinked her tears away furiously and looked away. Snape's next words brooked no argument.

"Perhaps you had better come with me," he said, a hand on her shoulder. Head down, Lydia followed him wordlessly to his office. "Sit."

She took a seat in a straight-backed silver-wood chair and noticed Snape had done the same behind his desk. He steepled his fingers together on the desk and leaned forward, black eyes piercing, but for once not hard or glaring. "Tell me."

Lydia stared blankly at him, wondering how in God's name she could ever begin, how she could even arrange her thoughts and feelings long enough to hold down a single coherent sentence. She felt her eyes beginning to burn and sting and fought back her tears. Best just say it straight and end it here and now.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came from her dry throat. She swallowed, licked her lips and tried again. She fared a little better. "Dead," she managed, her voice strained and scratched. With that one word the tears came, breaking over the crude dams of human stoicism she had raised in a futile attempt to keep them back. As she wept she forced out broken bits of sentences, spitting out words as they came to her, no longer caring if she could be understood or not. All that mattered was that she said them, got them out, knew herself that the words were spoken.

"Killed- Dumbledore got word- told me _He_ sent his men after them. Burned the house, nearly leveled the entire village. Found the bodies, can't figure cause of death. Two nights ago. Oh God. They're dead- he killed them and their dead!"

One and on she sobbed, too violently for words. She heard Snape moving and felt cold hands on her shoulders but would not- could not- look up. She saw nothing but the bright dazzle of light shining through her heavy curtain of tears, but could feel Snape's hands as he held her gently, soothing away the sobs that shook her body until they quieted and finally faded into small, infrequent tremors.

"Slowly, Miss Johnson. Take it slowly. One word at a time." Snape's voice was soft, soothing, his words gentle. For an instant, Lydia understood just why her mother had loved him.

She took a deep, trembling breath, staring at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. "They found the bodies three day ago. The house was burned to the ground. It took them two days to identify the bodies." Her voice shook as she fought back another wave of tears. She breathed slowly and deeply, continuing in a dull, toneless voice, reciting the story of someone else. "He sent three of them- Death Eaters- after my parents; it was because of my mother. Dumbledore said she may have been close to something big. We'll never know. No one else could even guess at what she might have known." Her throat ached with the effort of forcing out the words and keeping them from breaking down into incoherent babbling. "Oh, God. I'm a wreck. I just don't- I can't even- there's nothing I can do or say- I can't even think. I'm falling apart. You don't need to hear this; I'm sorry, I'm just not- I don't know what else to do!"

"So do nothing," Snape told her, his voice quite near her ear. "Do nothing. Not yet. Take care of yourself before anything else. And don't worry about me or what I think. I'm not going anywhere."

It was that final push, that last bit of kindness from the man she least expected- it was what broke the last barriers of human control that had kept her rational and able to function. She dissolved into tears without regard for shame or appearance, not caring what the cold, contemptuous man before her would think. Instead, she was surprised as Snape drew her closer to him, wrapping her in his arms, letting her weep on his shoulder.

And weep she did, shedding tears for the death of her mother, her father, for the death of the only family she had ever known. She wept for herself, for what she had lost and would never be able to regain, for all her regrets and for all the things she should have done but now would never have the chance. She wept that she had never had the opportunity to say I love you, I'm sorry, good-bye. She wept for so long that time and place lost their meaning until she no longer knew what it was she now wept for. It seemed as though she would weep forever.

But as time ran its course, so did her tears run theirs until at last her eyes bled dry. Even so, she did not move from her place at Snape's shoulder, still feeling the sting of her hot tears soaked into the fabric of his robes. As her mind cleared, she became acutely aware of how gently he held he, how cold his hands were against her back, yet how solid he felt. How good it felt to lie still in his arms, to have him hold her, care for her.

_Enough_, she thought fiercely. _What am I thinking? He's my _teacher_ for Merlin's sake_._ Twice my age and a greasy bastard to boot!_ But her mind and body were two separate entities and she did not stir from her place though her mind rebelled. She blinked the last of her tears from her eyes and looked up into a face who's expression she feared to see. Instead, what she saw surprised her and made her heart ache in pity.

Snape's face was streaked with tears and his eyes shone with pain and something more. He saw her looking but made no move to turn away or hide his pain. Without thinking, Lydia reached up as if to brush away his tears. When her fingers touched his skin, brushing gently against his damp face, she realized her mistake too late as Snape turned away quickly and stood, nearly tossing her to the floor.

"I think it's time for you to go," he said, not looking at her directly. She could hear the strain in his voice. "Go see Dumbledore. Or your friend Mr. Applegate. They'll give you more than my cold comfort." He picked up a piece of paper, then set it down again a moment later, clearly at a loss. "I'm sure Dumbledore will wish to speak with you further. Forgive me if I don't see you out."

"Uh- of course." Lydia backed out, her face burning. "I-" She wasn't sure what to say. She turned, then glanced over her shoulder. Why had she done that? More to the point, why had Snape reacted so strangely? Anger she had expected certainly, but not this- shutting down. He hadn't gone cold on her, he had just _withdrawn_. "And, em, thank you, Professor." Silence. Lydia waited a moment longer, but when Snape kept his gaze fixed on his desk, she gave up and slipped out the door. But as she disappeared from view, shutting the door behind her, Lydia missed Snape's eyes as he lifted his head to gaze at the door, eyes empty and forlorn...

"Julia..."

"I thought I might find you here."

Lydia jumped at the sound of Dumbledore's voice but didn't move as the old Headmaster sat down slowly beside her on the grass.

"Students- and teachers- have been coming to this place for years," he continued, gathering his robes about him as he leaned back against the roots of a giant oak. "They seem to seek out this place instinctively whenever they have something troubling on their minds. It is a good place to come and think."

Lydia nodded mutely. After leaving Snape's office she had gone immediately to the place where she often went to when she wanted to be alone. Right at the fringe of the Forbidden Forest a grove of oaks had sprung up what must have been years ago. Now they towered over the rest of the forest by a good dozen feet at the very least. The massive trunks formed a rough circle and their shade extended for yards. It was apparent that others found it a good place to withdraw to at times for someone had placed an assortment of smooth stones in the center of the ring, and it was on these that Lydia now sat, gazing towards the lake.

They sat in silence for a long while, the only noise the chirping of the evening birds mixed with the piping chimes of spring frogs. Lydia lay back atop the cool stones and closed her eyes.

"Tell me about my mother."

Dumbledore looked at her gravely for a long time. His blue eyes seemed distant and sad. "She was a lovely girl," he told her, staring at the lake. "A bright pupil as well as a popular student. I don't think there was a single student here that didn't like her at least a little. Not even the other houses."

"What was she like back then? When she was my age?"

"A lot like you are now," Dumbledore said. "Bright, exuberant, so full of life. She was a an avid Qudditch player, as are you, but she was a Seeker. She always had a kind word for everyone, or a little bit of help for a younger student. First years in particular seemed to draw her to them; she was so protective of them." Lydia opened her eyes as his voice caught and saw the tell-tale shining in the Headmaster's eyes before he reached up and wiped the tears away. "When she met Hal Curtiss, everyone said it was only a matter of time before they were married. How right we were. They complemented each other beautifully; Hal needed her to hold him back when he got a little too impulsive and your mother had a tendency to think matters to death before acting on them. Without the other, they would probably have gotten into a significantly larger amount of trouble than they ever did."

"My m- Professor Snape-" Lydia paused, uncertain how to proceed. Dumbledore saved her from having to continue.

"I remember your mother and Professor Snape," he said, peering at her over his silver spectacles. "It was a bit of a shock to the whole school, including those two, I believe. The most popular student in the school and the most unsavory. Make no mistake, Severus was disliked as much back then as he is now."

Lydia flushed, unsure what to say. "Then- how?"

"Tutoring." Dumbledore leaned back and folded his hands across his chest. "Potions was Severus' only virtue, your mother's only failing. Anything beyond that, you will have to ask Professor Snape himself."

"She mentioned that to me once, I think," Lydia said. "Other than that, though, she didn't talk much about her school days. Neither of them did." Her eyes misted over as she spoke her next thought. "And neither of them ever will." Her tears were silent this time, hot drops of salt sharp grief that slid down her face onto the rock, spattering the smooth, white stone with her sorrow.

"Miss Johnson, if you would like-"

"Please," she whispered, knowing what Dumbledore was about to offer. "Please. I think I need to be left alone for a while." She turned her head away to stare at the moss covered bole of one of the great oaks. "But if you happen to see Thomas- could you let him know where I am?"

Dumbledore nodded once, understanding. "Would you like me to tell him the news, or let you?"

"I will." Her throat tightened painfully. When she could open her eyes again, Dumbledore was gone and she was alone again, sharing her grief with the whispering of a thousand ancient leaves.

Thomas Applegate was at a loss.

This was not an unusual situation; Thomas was notorious for finding himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, or getting himself stuck in an awkward state of affairs, like the time Filch had caught down in the school kitchens with an éclair stuffed in his mouth and matching pastries in each hand. Most of the time, however, there was always someone else who could get him out of a tight spot, keeping him from having to think of his own way out. Unfortunately for him, the person who predominately occupied that position was currently the one providing him with the unsolvable problem he was now faced with.

"You're going to _what?_" he demanded, ducking a flying book only to be hit square in the face with a balled up robe. "You can't be serious!"

"You know I am." Lydia was stone faced as she threw items into a trunk with hectic randomness. "And you can either help me or get out of m'bloody way."

"Oh please," Thomas snorted. "Spare me the clichés." This time he caught the robe as it came flying towards him. "Lydia, stop it. Just stop and think about this."

"I _have_ thought about, Thomas. I've spent the last week doing nothing _but_ think about it." She paused as she considered a book in her hand before throwing it on top of the other books and robes piled in her trunk. "I'm going whether you like it or not."

"But Dumbledore-" Thomas grasped at the last straw he could think of as he realized with panic that Lydia was not going to be talked down.

"Dumbledore can't do a thing," Lydia said bluntly. "I'm eighteen now, I can do as I damn well please." Suddenly, she dropped the armload she was carrying and grasped Thomas' hands in her own, her black eyes boring into his. "Thomas, please try and understand. This is something I _have_ to do. Don't you see?"

"No." Thomas shook his head, feeling as though a piece of his heart died with the spark of hope in Lydia's eyes. "I don't. What I see is an irrational girl who is letting her emotions get the best of her." He flinched as she dropped his hands and swore, spinning around sharply as she continued to pack.

"I hoped I could at least count on you to be supportive," she said without turning around. Another pair of robes joined the pile. "It's nice to know that you have people you can trust."

"What, I'm being a bad friend because I don't want you to go and get yourself killed?" His voice was getting shriller as it grew louder, but he didn't care. "Dammit, Lydia, why don't you stop thinking of yourself for a minute!"

That got her attention. She turned to face him and Thomas took an involuntary step back when he saw her black eyes flash. "How can you say that?" she hissed, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. "How can you even _think_-"

"_We've lost enough people already without losing you as well!_"

Lydia stared at him in shocked silence. Mutely, Thomas held out a supplicating hand. "Please, Lydia."

For a moment, he thought he had her. _Please_, he thought. _Not you too_._ Come on, Lyd-_ "Lyd-"

"Don't call me that."

Lydia's voice was cold as she her back on him, shutting the top of her trunk. Thomas felt his heart fall. He looked at her a moment longer, but she gave no sign that she even recognized his presence anymore. He couldn't get through to her no matter how hard he tried. But he couldn't give up, either. If he did, she was going to die and there would be no help for it. So he did the only thing he could think of. He turned and ran.

His initial thought was to find Dumbledore and inform him of the situation. That would take things out of his hands nicely. It wasn't that Thomas didn't _care_- it was just that he couldn't handle himself under pressure. He couldn't stand it when people depended on him for help he felt he couldn't give them.

_I've got to find Dumbledore_, he thought to himself as he ran down the stairs of the Ravenclaw tower. _If anyone can talk her out of this, he can_. He gave no thought to an explanation of why he'd been in the girls' dorm in the first place, he hoped the larger problem at hand would override that minor detail. He paused as he reached the foot of the stairs. Dumbledore would be in his office right then. It was long past supper and as far as he knew, the Great Hall was empty. The only problem was, beside the fact that the wasn't even certain where the entrance to the office was, he hadn't a clue how to get in when he did find it.

"Bloody hell," he swore crossly. "Where-?"

"Mr. Applegate."

Thomas looked up at the speaker and nearly swore again. Snape was staring down at him, hands folded into the sleeves of his robe. "What are you doing at the foot of the girls' dorm?" he asked, his voice heavy with unspent venom.

_Of all the people I had to meet-_ "I need to find Dumbledore," he said shortly, refusing to let the bastard waylay him from his task. "It's important. I _have_ to find him."

"I think Dumbledore has slightly more important matters to take care of than listening to the whinging of a Ravenclaw brat," Snape told him smugly. "If it's that important, why don't you find Flitwick? Isn't he the one that's supposed to be taking care of your House anyway?"

"You don't understand," Thomas began desperately. "I-"

"No, Mr. Applegate, _you_ don't understand." Snape scowled. "As I said, if it's that important-"

"_Lydia's going to get herself killed if I don't find Dumbledore and get him to stop her!_"

There, _that_ got his attention. Thomas stopped himself from snickering as the blood drained from Snape's face. The matter was deadly serious.

"Take me there."

Thomas obeyed without thinking the commanding tone of the Potion Master's voice. He turned on his heel and led the way back to the girls' dorm, all thoughts of finding Dumbledore forgotten. While perhaps not the most fortunate person to find, Snape was still a figure of authority and still had a chance talking Lydia down from her suicidal focus.

"What's wrong?" Snape asked, never taking his eyes off the top of the staircase.

"Lydia- Death Eaters...said something about her parents- avenging their deaths," Thomas panted, still out of breath from his earlier rush down the stairs. "She's going after them- any of them. Said she'd take on You-Know-Who if she had the chance. I tried to talk her out of it, but she won't listen. You've got to get through to her, Professor. She doesn't have a chance." Thomas finally ran out of breath and sat heavily on the stairs. Snape brushed past him without a second glance. Thomas could only hope he knew what he was doing and that he wasn't bringing Lydia more harm than good.

"Lydia."

"Go away." Lydia didn't even turn around, just continued to try and jam the lid of her trunk down over the massive pile of stuff that lay inside. Snape held back his retort, reminding himself of the seriousness of the situation. Provided that Applegate had been telling the truth, and there was no reason to believe he wasn't. "You're not even supposed to be in here. Don't you have a dungeon to go crawl into? Or points to take from some Gryffindor?"

Snape winced at the coldness of her voice but steeled his own. "I ran into your friend, Mr. Applegate. He told me that you were about to do something rash and downright stupid."

"Thomas talks to much," she snapped, still refusing to turn around.

"Perhaps. But I can't say I've ever known the boy to lie. It could be that he's just too stupid to know how, but either way. Is it true?"

"What do you think?" She finally got the latches snapped on the trunk and hauled the whole thing off her bed. "What do you care, anyway? Just because you loved my mother doesn't mean that you don't still hate me. I'm not one of your precious Slytherins, after all." Snape could tell by her tone that her next words were meant to hurt, a distraction thrown up to hide her real resolve. "If you really loved her, you'd be doing the same thing I am."

Inside, Snape felt his heart twist at the near truth of her words. _If only you knew_, he thought. _If only you knew how much I want to be packing there by your side, helping you hunt down each and every one of the bastards that did it_._ I'd face Voldemort one on one if I could, even though it would mean my death_._ Or maybe I just tell myself that, use my usefulness here as an excuse to stay behind_._ Maybe I didn't really love her_._ Maybe I never knew how to love anyone_.

"Maybe," he said, keeping his voice neutral and his expression blank. "Even so, I've still things to accomplish before I go out chasing death, no matter how much I may desire it." Damn. He hadn't meant to let that slip. He hurried on before she could either notice or take the time to ask what he meant by it. "And if you stop and think a moment, you'll find that's exactly what you're doing. Honestly, girl. Do you really think you're strong enough to take on even a single Death Eater? If it were that easy, we'd have gotten rid of them long ago." _And I should know_, he thought as he matched her glare for glare. _I was one of the weaker ones and I would have no trouble reducing you to a very large pile of very small pieces_.

"What the hell do you know-"

"More than you'll ever imagine, Miss Johnson," Snape interrupted. "You're letting your emotions rule your mind, and that won't accomplish anything but get you killed. Now," he said, turning as if to go, "if that's what you want, try and send a message before you die so we'll know where to go to pick up your body. What's left of it, at least." He stepped towards the door, confident that his ploy would work as it had on so many others.

It seemed Lydia Johnson was no exception. "Wait," she said lowly, her voice filled with malice and reluctance.

Snape turned. "Yes?" he asked patiently, one eyebrow raised. "Have you changed your mind?" He was beginning to weary of this game, every word seemed to slog up from the depths of his brain.

Lydia's glare lost none of its intensity, but she scowled and spoke. "Tell me exactly why I shouldn't go out there and hunt down every single one of them," she demanded. Snape saw the traitorous tears well up in her eyes as her voice strained with intensity. "Tell me why I shouldn't risk my life in hopes of avenging the only life I ever had. Tell me, why I should even care, with the only people who ever meant _anything_ to me laying cold in some graveyard? _Why should I care?_"

"Why don't you stop and actually _think_ about it for a minute?" Snape shot back. "You were put in Ravenclaw for a reason, because you know how to stop and think! You're acting like your father, all brawn, no brain." He folded his arms across his chest as he stood, blocking the door. "You're not leaving this room, Miss Johnson. There are too many things you have yet to do before you die. Too many people who depend on you now."

She stared at him, her face unreadable. His stomach knotted. He couldn't get through to her. She was unreachable, wherever she was, and nothing short of a paralysis spell could stand in her way. He readied his hand over his pocket, confident he could reach his wand before she could take more than a few steps-

Then, to his complete and utter shock, she dropped her trunk and collapsed on the foot of the bed.

"But what else am I going to do?" she whispered, staring at her trunk, eyes wide and unseeing. "How can I just let Him get away with something like that? He killed my parents," she said, looking up at him wildly. "How can you even begin to understand what I'm feeling?"

"You're not the only one who lost a loved on in this war," Snape reminded her sharply. The time for coddling was past, now nothing more than the full, blunt truths would shock her out of her unheeding hysteria. "We all have. Don't presume that others don't know how much you're hurting."

"How could they?" she asked bitterly. "They haven't lost anyone the way I have."

"What makes you so certain?" _I lost more than that to Voldemort and his Death Eaters_, Snape thought grimly. _I lost myself_._ I lost my very soul to him, and only Dumbledore could give it back_. "Your friend, Miss Taylor O'Shea. She lost her aunt and three of her cousins when the Death Eaters converged on their household. Michael Kileson, the Hufflepuff sixth year lost his brother and father. I could stand here and rattle off names from now until next term, if you like."

"What good would that do?"

"It would help you understand that you are not the only one who's hurt!" he snarled at her with more vehemence than was strictly necessary. He wanted- no, _needed_- to make her angry now. If she lost herself in pity or grief then she would break down on him, and he wasn't certain if he could handle that. Not again. Get her angry, wear her down so that she had no choice but to listen. Clear her mind of the rage that clouded her ability to think. It was the only thing he could do.

Her jaw set stubbornly. "If their lost ones meant half as much to them as my parents did to me-"

"Not throwing their lives away means that they didn't love their family?" Snape asked. "Stop trying to be the noble martyr. It's better suited for the Gryffidors anyway."

"So then what the hell do you expect me to do?" she shouted at him, jumping up from her seat on the bed and pacing angrily. "Just sit here and let him get away with it?"

"For starters, you may cease the dramatics, shut up, and sit down." Snape was running out of patience. If he couldn't resolve this quickly-

To his amazement, she actually did as she was told. Good thing, too. He didn't know if he had the strength to back himself up.

"Now," he said slowly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "What do you do now? Simple. You think. What I don't understand is why students feel the best thing to do is go out and act on the first whim they get without regard for safety or sanity. Just think for a moment. What are you going to accomplish by getting blown to bits by a Death Eater?"

"Revenge-" she began, but Snape cut her off.

"Don't you think that perhaps your revenge would be better and more complete if you lived to tell about it?" Snape asked quietly. "If you die in this endeavor, Voldemort will have won. Not that it would matter to him; you're just a speck of dust to be wiped away for all he's concerned."

"I know."

"If you took the time to-" Snape paused and stared. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said I know." Lydia's gaze was fixed on the bedpost. "I know. It's futile and hopeless. But- I just don't know what else to do, where else to start!" Her last words ended in a wail as she burst into tears of pure frustration and threw herself into Snape's unexpecting arms.

"I can't even think clearly," she sobbed as Snape held her awkwardly. This was not at all what he expected. "All I know is that I want him to pay for what he did, I want them all to pay. It's the only way I know how."

"I know, I know," he said, trying to make his voice soothing as her tears stormed. "But remember, there are people who can help you. Dumbledore, your friend Thomas." He had learned that lesson years ago when he too had tried to block his ears from the help given him, when he had tried to push away the offers of a compassionate ear, and soothing hand. Dear Professor McGonagall had pursued with all her considerable stubbornness, however, until he had at last relented.

"What-" she hiccupped. "What about you?"

Snape continued on as if he hadn't heard her. "Let in those who would help you," he told her. "Don't let stubborn pride keep you from them. Don't be stupid." _Not like I was_.

She said nothing, and Snape was surprised to find that she was still curled in his arms like a young child. She had done the same no too long ago in his office and he tried to push away the thoughts creeping in at the edge of his mind. _She's young_, he told himself fiercely. _She's young and vulnerable_._ You've no right, no right at all_._ What makes you think she could even begin to-_ But her last words still echoed through his mind. _"What about you?"_ She couldn't know what she was talking about. She was too young. But she was so sweet and pliable in his arms, so soft, so innocent. He bit his lip as he felt her warm skin seep through her robes, infusing his hands with its heat. _She was her mother's daughter_...

Snape did not move for a long while, not caring what was right or wrong. All he cared about then was that whatever else may happen, it felt right to have her in his arms.


	5. Découvertes

"Whatcha thinking about?"

Thomas flicked an idle pumpkin seed at Lydia from the bowl he was eating out of. They were both sitting in the Ravenclaw common room which was empty except for them. Lydia stared into the crackling fire.

"Eh," she shrugged noncommittally. "Stuff. You know."

"Yeah, I guess." Thomas yawned and popped another handful of seeds into his mouth. "Got a lot on my mind, too. Too much going on, first there's that Divinations packet due tomorrow, then that three foot essay for History, and on top of all that, we've got to master that glowing charm for Flick," he said, using the affectionate shortening of his Head of House's name. Not that he ever used it when addressing the little man himself, of course.

"Mhm." Lydia blinked distractedly, only half listening to her friend. "If you need help with that paper, just lemme know."

"Yeah, I just might. So what's happening, anyway?" Thomas emptied the bowl and sent it flying into the wall. "Oops! I guess I need to work on that charm."

"_Reparo_," Lydia said absently, with a flick of her wand. "Do try and be more careful, Thomas." She still didn't look up.

"Hey, is there something wrong? You seem a little, I dunno, distracted. What's up?"

"Nothing." Lydia tore her eyes from the dancing flames and smiled weakly. "Just a lot of work, like you said." Well, that and a whole lot more on her mind than just schoolwork...but he didn't need to know that. Best just keep quiet.

"You can say that again. Is it just me, or are the teachers getting meaner as the year goes on? Oh well." He yawned again and pulled a Chocolate Frog from his robes. "Hey, only a week until the Halloween Feast," he said as he munched. "Who you going to the dance with after? Marc Prescott?"

Lydia shrugged. "Maybe, I dunno. Yeah," she amended as she felt Thomas' inquiring stare. "Probably."

"Good." He laughed a trifle nervously. "I wasn't sure for a moment, there. The way things are going, I half expected you to say you were gonna be going with Snappish Snape."

"I beg your pardon?" Lydia demanded, a little too sharply. Her braid whipped around as she turned to face him. "Where did you get that idea? Thomas-"

"Hey, calm down." Thomas raised his palms placatingly. "Don't go getting all bent out of shape on me. I was just kidding, alright? Can't you take a joke?"

"Not when they aren't funny," she grumped, resuming her stare into the fireplace.

"What's gotten into you lately, anyway?" he asked, his turn to stare quizzically. "You seem so...irritable. And distracted. It's like I can't even talk to you anymore without watching what I say all the time."

"Look, it just wasn't funny, okay?" She heard the annoyance creeping into the edge of her voice and tried to block it off. "Just drop it."

"I didn't mean anything by it," Thomas said, sulkily. "It's just that you're the only one who he doesn't look like he wants to kill during class time. He's barely said a word to you since-" He trailed off nervously, glancing at her through the corner of his eye.

"Since my parents died," she finished bluntly, without blinking an eye. It had been nearly five months now, and she found she could talk about it some, as long as she didn't think to hard about it.

"Er...right." There was an awkward pause, during which she hoped he would just let things lie. No such luck.

"I mean, the whole class is beginning to notice," he went on, blithely. "I mean, it wouldn't be a big deal with anyone else, but I don't think I've ever seen him so unhostile befo- What?" He drew back from the Look she was giving him. "What did I say?"

"What do you mean, people are beginning to notice?" Lydia asked him slowly, wondering if she was asking too much too quickly.

Thomas shrugged. "I dunno. People are talking about how you've managed to get on his good side, or something. There are a few rumours flying around, but nothing major."

"What sort of rumours?" God, she thought uneasily, the conversation was going rapidly downhill.

"You know, just stupid little things." Thomas looked at her warily. "What do you care, anyway? It's not like you're out boffing the teacher or something-"

"_Thomas_!" Lydia gripped the arms of her chair so hard her knuckles turned white.

"What?" he shot back. "Fine, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I brought it up at all. I forgot you don't like to talk about that kind of thing." He sat back moodily in his chair, arms crossed, staring into the fire. Lydia heard his uneven breathing and knew things had gotten a little out of control. Tonight, though, she was in no mood to try and smooth things over again.

"I'm going up to my room," she said without looking at her friend. "I'll see you in the morning." Thomas made some unintelligible noise that sounded vaguely like a grunt of assent. For some reason, that just irked her even more. As if she needed his approval to do anything!

Angrily, she jerked back the bed curtains and yanked them closed again behind her. She lay in the darkness, hissing silent streams of anger, like a teakettle boiling over. "Stupid git," she snarled to herself. "Daft, senseless prig! So bloody _thick_ sometimes!" She lay back, repeating a string of insults through her mind as she stared at the ceiling. "Ah, what's the use?"

She rolled over on her side, thinking she could at least to sleep early. As she first closed her eyes, she thought herself too wound up to relax enough to do anything but stare at the inside of her eyelids. But either she was more tired than she thought, or the pseudo-argument with Thomas wore her out. Either way, she was asleep before she could do more than think about it.

"Lydia?"

"Mph?"

"Hey, Lydia, giddup." An hand shook her, none too gently.

"Mm...g'way. Wha'ya want?"

"C'mon, ye great lump. Stir yerself!" Taylor's persistent voice cut through the clouds of sleep that fogged Lydia's brain. "Thomas wants to talk t'you. Says to tell you he's sorry, and he's got something to tell you." She shook Lydia harder. "C'mon, get yerself up!"

Groaning, Lydia opened her eyes and yawned. "He couldn't have told me before I fell asleep?" she asked rhetorically. "What's he want, anyway?"

"I dunno," Taylor said, much to Lydia's disappointment. "Just that he wants to talk with you. Oh yeah, did you hear about Cho?" Lydia shook her head. "Well, I guess Flitwick decided to shift the dorming around, so she's going to be moving out tomorrow. Gonna be staying with a group from her own year, instead." Although she was only a fourth year, there were so many of them in the Ravenclaw Tower that she had roomed with Lydia and Taylor instead. For the most part, Lydia hadn't even noticed the year's difference, but she was glad for the younger girl that she was going to be living with people her own age.

She climbed out of bed with difficulty, still blinking the sleep from her eyes. She pulled her shoes on clumsily and staggered over to the stairway.

"You gonna be alright?" Taylor called after her. "Sure you don't wanna wake up a bit more before you go?"

"I'll be fine," Lydia assured her, her hand groping for the banister. She clomped down the stairs, shrugging her robes straight as she walked. Thomas was waiting for her down at the bottom of the stairs, looking uncomfortable and a little ashamed.

"Eh- I guess I want to say I'm sorry," he said scuffing the toe of his shoe on the floor. "I was being a bit of a prick tonight."

Yes, Lydia thought to herself, you were. Out loud, she said, "Yeah. But if you didn't, I'd think something was wrong."

Thomas looked hurt for half a second, then suddenly brightened. "Yeah, well, that's what I'm hear for," he bragged, a grin on his long face. "What would you do without me, anyway?"

Sleep? she almost suggested, but bit her tongue.

"C'mon," he said, grabbing her by the sleeve of her robe and dragging her towards the stairs leading to the kitchen. "Let's go get something to eat, I'm starved."

"Thomas," Lydia laughed. "When are you not hungry? Didn't your parents ever feed you when you were little?"

"Never and not enough," he said cheekily as they climbed the stairs. "They said themselves they're surprised I don't weigh as much as Hagrid."

Lydia was laughing so hard at the thought of Thomas blown up with the girth of one of Hagrid's pumpkins, rolling down the halls towards the kitchen that she almost missed the top step. Instead, she stumbled forward, straight into a familiar, hard faced student.

"Watch it, you stupid girl." Mitchell Sarrington glanced up and recognition slowly dawned on his pale face. "You again?" he snarled, drawing himself up. "You need to learn to watch where you're going. Daft Ravenclaws." He snickered unkindly as he looked her up and down. "No brains, no sense, not even particularly good looking. I wonder what he sees in you..."

Lydia felt the blood drain from her face. "What did you say?" she asked lowly, ignoring Thomas' bewildered stare. Mitchell laughed.

"I think you know what I mean," he said cruelly. "I'd never have suspected our dear Head of House to be consorting with the likes of you." He noticed Thomas' expression and his smile widened. "I see you haven't told your faithful sidekick yet," he said. "Shall I be the first to let a little light into that thick skull of his?"

"Shut up." Lydia felt white hot rage begin to creep into her veins. She clenched her fists at her side. "Just shut up. Go back to the dungeons where you belong, you damn snake." She nearly choked on her fury. Mitchell just laughed again.

"I'll be seeing you," he taunted over his shoulder as he walked down the hallways. "Real soon, I'm bound. If I decide to hang around our dear Professor's private rooms, that is..." His voice faded down the corridor, and Lydia allowed her hands to unclench. Her breathing was heavy as she followed the Slytherin sixth year with a glare that would have set Voldemort himself back on his heels. It wasn't until she turned around that she noticed the expression on Thomas' face.

"Oh my God," he breathed, staring at her with a mix of horror and disgust. "You _are_ boffing the bastard."

Lydia took a step towards him, he took a step back, gazing at her with wide eyed revulsion. "Thomas," she began, holding out her hand. "Please, Thomas. Listen to me."

"Oh my God. No _wonder_ you got so uptight whenever I- Merlin's beard, you and...oh man. Oh _man_."

"Thomas, would you please stop being a stupid prat and _listen_ to me for a minute?" Lydia grabbed him by the sleeve of his robe and yanked him into a nook in the hall. "First off, shut your mouth, you're starting to attract flies." She took him by the shoulders and stared him straight in the eye. "Are you prepared to listen to me for a minute? Thomas?" She shook him, her black eyes boring into his green ones. "If you ever thought of yourself as my friend, then for Merlin's sake just give me a second to explain!"

Slowly, Thomas shut his mouth and nodded once. Lydia released his shoulders and stepped back, taking a deep breath.

"Remember last week when you tried to stop me from getting myself killed?" Lydia twisted a length of thread between her fingers, not looking her friend directly in the eye. "You went to find Dumbledore but ended up bringing Snape back instead." She looked up and bit her lip. "That's when it started."

***

"What-" Lydia paused, hating herself for what she was about to ask. But she _needed_ to know. "What about you?"

Snape ignored her and continued on without a pause. To Lydia, his disregard of her question came as a relief; she still wasn't certain whether or not she could deal with the possible consequences that her question would birth. At the same time, she felt keen disappointment because she didn't know if she would ever have the courage to ask it again. Snape talked on, oblivious to the turmoil in her mind, of the thoughts in her head. She nearly wept from the ache in her heart and the cold knot in her stomach. She was so aware of his slender fingers on her back, the thin, bony shoulder on which she rested her head. She breathed in and smelled the cool scent of his skin, sharp and clean like a bin of fresh herbs.

She realized that Snape had at last stopped talking but continued to hold her, slender arms clasping her close. Neither of them said anything for a long, long time. Somewhere outside, they could hear the scuffle of Thomas' shoes on the floor as he paced anxiously.

"How-" her throat tightened in fearful anticipation. She could barely force the words out, but she knew that it was either now or never. But why? Why, why ask in the first place? The truth was never kind, why do this to herself?

Because she had to know, she had to ask, to get the words out before they boiled away her control to nothingness. Best ask now while she was at least under her own will rather than forgetting herself and letting the words slip out unsuspectingly at the worst time, the worst place. And she needed to know at that moment, not later, not another day, but now. She had to ask.

"How can something feel this good and still be so wrong?"

Was it her imagination, or did she feel his entire body stiffen under hers? Her heart sank as her question was met by empty silence. Lydia cursed herself silently and started to disentangle herself. Of all the bloody stupid things to do-

A warm breath in her ear stopped her as she moved to rise. Snape held her closer as he whispered in her ear. "Whoever said it had to be wrong?"

Startled, Lydia looked up at him and nearly cried out at the sight of his open pain, sadness and desire. Suddenly she understood: here was a man so convinced that no one could ever love him that he eliminated every hope, every possibility until he had even himself convinced that he didn't care. But he could not lie to himself forever and now, as he lay himself open before her, she saw the depths of his anguish as he wordlessly handed her his soul.

"Professor-" Lydia buried her head into his robes, weeping silently into the nook where his neck joined with his shoulder. For the first time in months, years, her tears were not the bitter tears of grief or the harsh, stinging tears of sorrow. Instead, she wept for the sheer relief brought about as the questions that had been brushing about her thoughts for the past year were answered. Somewhere she knew that all her fears and doubts had been groundless, that there was never any doubt of the outcome.

Snape said nothing, but pressed his lips to the top of her head. His bony fingers tightened their grip as he held her ever closer, clutching her to him as if though he was afraid that she would disappear from his very embrace.

As her tears dried and ran themselves out, Snape gently lifted her head from his shoulder, wiping the tears from her face with his thumbs. "Your friend, Mr. Applegate will be wondering," he said, his black eyes soft for the first time that Lydia could remember.

"He doesn't need to know," she told him, twisting a strand of his long black hair around her fingers. "No one needs to know."

"True." Snape smiled ever-so-slightly and stood. "Fifteen minutes. You know where to find me." He turned and left, his robes scraping softly against the stone steps. Moments later, Lydia heard him telling Thomas that he was to return to his own dorm and wait until morning to see her. She hid her smile, though there was no one to see. Even his friendship with Lydia wouldn't be enough for him to disobey an order from Snape.

The minutes ticked by molasses slow, each one taking longer than the last until it was time. Lydia rose, cocking her ears for any sound of her roommates. Luck was with her; Taylor was out on a midnight rendezvous with her new Gryffindor bloke. Cho was probably down by the lake, catching up on her sketches. Thomas had already retreated to his own bed, and the common room was empty.

Lydia slipped past the portrait door and padded noiselessly down the steps towards the dungeon. The cold seeped into her robes and she shivered, telling herself it was only a matter of minutes before she would be warm again. As she knocked on the door to Snape's private offices, she prayed that he hadn't changed his mind, that once given the chance to think it over had come to his sense and would refuse her entry. But as the doors swung open, she caught sight of him standing beside his desk and realized that he had been plagued by the same fears as she. His took a step towards her as she entered, one hand half raised.

"You came," he whispered hoarsely, his eyes revealing what his voice did not. "I wasn't certain- I thought you might have..."

She shook her head, letting her hair fall loose from her braid and hang around her shoulders. "I told you once," she said, feeling her stomach flutter with nervousness. She clenched her hands to hide their shaking and closed the gap between them. "I told you-"

And then there was no need for words.

As Lydia made her way back up the Ravenclaw tower in the wee hours of morning, she fingered the small chain that had always hung around her neck since her mother died. The tiny locket swung gently, and when she released the clasp, a perfect, miniature painting of her mother smiled at her warmly. She reached out her fingertip to touch the tiny features and closed the locket again.

Once back in her own room, she carefully unpacked her trunk and replaced the various contents in her closet. And then, as she lay on her bed, her heart singing, she repeated Severus' parting words to her as she got up to leave his rooms.

"And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent."

***

Lydia brought her narration to a close and looked at Thomas expectantly. The young Ravenclaw just shook his head, staring at the ground.

"I'd never have guessed," he said quietly. "I'm still not sure what to think." He looked hard at her. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Thomas, I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life," she said fervently. "I swear to you, this is right."

"So he's not- you aren't just....he's not just taking advantage-?"

"No, Thomas." Lydia shook her head, her black braid swinging. "I'm sure of it. And besides," she continued, "that was a week ago. It only happened twice, maybe three times." She fumbled about for the right words to describe. "We found out that- it wasn't the sex." She saw Thomas wince and searched for a more tactful description. "We didn't need to be in that intimate a relationship. It's enough just to be with him, to know he's there and that...and that he loves me." She said the last part hesitantly.

"He told you that?" Thomas' voice was incredulous.

Lydia shook her head. "No," she admitted. "He hasn't actually said that he has. But he doesn't need to."

"So you two aren't still-" Thomas shook his head. "Sorry, Lyd. It's just really hard to wrap my mind around this right now."

"I know, I know. How do you think I felt when I first realized I was in love with him?"

Thomas looked at her sharply. "You're absolutely sure about that?"

"Yes." Lydia was surprised at the conviction in her voice. "I am. I love him, Thomas, and I'd die for him. And I know he'd do the same for me."

"Let's just hope the opportunity to test that never comes," Thomas said dryly, regaining some of his old humor. He took one of her hands in his own. "If you're sure you're happy, then I guess that's all that matters," he said. "But Lydia?"

"Yeah?"

Thomas looked at her seriously, the beginnings of a scowl darkening his face. "I will not like that greasy bastard just because you're his lover."

"Shut_up_!" Lydia clapped her hand over her friend's mouth, but it was too late. The sound of footsteps coming down the hall stopped as the owner heard Thomas' voice. Lydia prayed that whoever it was would either discount it as their imagination or not find it important and go away. Please, please, please just make them go away.

Instead, the footsteps grew louder as the person came closer. Giving up all thoughts of hiding, Lydia stepped out into the open hallway, hoping that the person had not caught on to the subject of their conversation.

"Er, hullo, Professor Trelawney," Thomas said awkwardly. "How...um...how are the stars, lately?" Lydia rolled her eyes and stifled a groan.

"They have been most interesting, Thomas Applegate, most interesting." Trelawney's hoop earrings jangled in time with the bracelets on her wrists. Her skinny fingers reached out and tilted Lydia's face up towards the light, her strong perfume nearly choking the girl. "What was this I heard about you, Miss Johnson, and a lover?"

Lydia gulped and opened her mouth but could find no words to say. She bit her lip and stared at the ground, wondering how she was going to be able to get out of this one without the whole school knowing of her unorthodox relationship.

"_Lydia_!"

She looked up quickly as Thomas hissed her name and saw that he was pointing wide-eyed at Trelawney. When she looked up, she saw that the Divinations Professor had gone blank faced and distant, her eyes seeing beyond what was visually in front of her to somewhere the Lydia feared to even guess at. The skinny woman brushed her fingers over Lydia's face and spoke, her voice low and resonant.

"Lover no," she intoned, staring at something that neither of the two Ravenclaws could see, nor did they wish to. "Lover no, but beloved, yes. Beware the time when the two converge, for with their union space and time will shift its boundaries and change like no other will occur. Remember now where your friends lie, for they will serve you well soon. Even as your bonds grow stronger, so too will the strength of your enemies. Let the joined union of love run its course and place your trust where you would never have before. Forget the barriers of thought you had erected before now, open your mind to what you would never have considered. It is the only way you will survive what is coming."

Her voice trailed off, and she stood for a moment, swaying on her feet as if though all the energy had been drained from her body. Thomas reached out to catch her as she fell.

"Professor Trelawney?" he asked worriedly as Lydia helped him lower her to the ground. "Professor Trelawney, are you alright?"

Trelawney blinked slowly and sought to rise. "I- excuse me, dears. I'm sorry, I seem to have fallen asleep on my feet. Late nights, you know. The sprits seem more active than usual lately. It must have something to do with Halloween fast approaching."

"That must be it," Thomas agreed. "Do you remember how you got down here?"

Trelawney shook her head. "No, now that you mention it, I don't." She frowned. "I don't remember a thing after I walked out of my tower. This is most strange."

"Perhaps you were sleepwalking," Lydia offered. "It happens when you're more tired than you realize. I'm sure that's it."

"Mhm. Perhaps." Trelawney's eyes got that misty, distant look in them again and for a moment, Lydia was afraid she was going to go back into her trance. But the jewel bedecked woman simply shook her head, sending her earrings and bangles into a wild chiming. "If that's the case, perhaps I should get back to my rooms."

"Do you need any help getting back?"  
"No, no thank you, dear. I'll be fine."

"Whew!" Lydia let out a deep sigh of relief as she watched Trelawney disappear down the hall. "That was closer than I like to think about." She frowned. "What was all that about beloved and surviving what was to come?"

Thomas shrugged. "She was making another of her predictions," he said. "But I've never seen her like that before."

"You said yourself that everyone knew she was nothing but an old fraud."

"Yeah, but I've never, _ever_ seen her like that. Not all tranced out."

Lydia shivered in spite of herself. "Whatever. It was all nonsense anyway. Finding friends and guarding against enemies, disruption in space and time- it doesn't make any sense. It's all rubbish."

"Well, either way it was a lucky break for us," Thomas pointed out. "At least she doesn't know about you and- you know. She can't go rat us out."

"Mhm." Suddenly Lydia was reminded of something. "Thomas," she said urgently. "Oh God, Thomas!" She wound her fingers nervously in her hair. "Mitchell Sarrington."

"What about him?" Thomas asked, not understanding. Then: "Oh. _Oh_."

Lydia nodded grimly, chewing on the end of a strand of hair.

"How did _he_ find out in the first place?"

"Sev?"

"Hmm?" Lydia smiled as Snape looked up from his desk, hair falling into his eyes.

"Why don't you take a break and let me do some of that?"

Snape snorted. "Right," he said dryly. "I am _not_ going to entrust my potions to someone of _your_ talent. Or should I say, lack thereof."

Lydia stuck her tongue out at him and threw her book to the table. They were both in his private offices while Snape brewed up batches of sample potions for his First Years. It had been nearly a month since the incident with Professor Trelawney and Mitchell Sarrington. After a long talk with Thomas, she had decided not to tell Snape about how Sarrington knew of their relationship. Though they had wracked their brains over the matter for the rest of the night, neither of them could figure out how he could have known about it in the first place. Thomas had convinced her that they should just keep quiet about it for the time being, and not bother anyone else about it. Not that there _was_ anyone else to bother except for Snape. Even so, she had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach as if she knew that she shouldn't be keeping it from him. Still, she couldn't think of a reason why _not_ to keep it from him. It wasn't as if Sarrington had told anyone about it, for if he had, it would have been all over the school by now.

"I don't know how you managed to make it to your fifth year without failing Potions at least once," Snape was continuing. "You're almost as bad as your mother."

"Well," Lydia grinned and wrinkled her nose at him. "It was a good job of doctoring the thing up, wasn't it?"

"Tell me again, what was the actual color of the potion you handed to me the first day of class? The one that was supposed to be clear?"

"Red," Lydia admitted. "Dark, dark red. But a handful of _translucia_ flowers and you didn't know the difference, now did you?"

"You're lucky I didn't decide to make you drink it," Snape told her, eyes fixed to the cauldrons on the fire and on the desk. "Having your stomach melted is not, I imagine, pleasant."

"I wouldn't know, nor do I care to." She got up and walked over to lean over his shoulder. "Whatcha working on now?"

"Have you the faintest idea how irritating that is?" Snape asked her as her hair tickled his ear. "Bad enough I have to do this with you in the room in the first place, now I have to deal with you over my shoulder as well. Wonderful."

"Well if you weren't so damn engrossed in your beloved potions all the time," Lydia said, leaning hard onto his shoulder. "You're like a rock sometimes, I'll watch you sit there, and you won't move for hours at a time. A bloody stone, that's what you are."

"Go inside a stone," Snape quipped, "that would be my way./Let somebody else become a dove/or gnash with a tiger's tooth./I am happy to be a stone."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "There you go again," she said. "Spouting your ridiculous poetic nonsense. Where do you find the time to memorize that stuff, anyway?"

"Just because you may have no time for culture, Miss Johnson, does not mean that I must follow suit." He carefully poured a phial of yellow liquid into the cauldron and sighed with relief when it turned blue. "Thank Merlin that's done with," he muttered as he leaned back.

"You don't sound so good." Lydia's brow furrowed in concern. Her fingers kneaded deeply into his neck and shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"Mm...if you stop doing that, you can leave this room right now and never come back." Snape closed his eyes as Lydia continued to massage his neck and shoulders. "If I don't sound good, it's because I'm not. There was an emergency up in the First Years' dorm last night and I had to deal with it. It seems a Second Year by the name of Draco Malfoy decided it would be amusing to plant dungbombs under each of the beds so that they would go off in the middle of the night. After dealing with that, I had to have a bit of a talk with Mr. Malfoy."

Lydia widened her eyes in mock astonishment. "You actually disciplined one of your own students?" she asked in affected surprise. "This is a first! I've got to go find Thomas so we can let everyone know!"

Snape opened one eye and glared at her. "It was an inter-House matter. I had hoped you would have been observant enough to have figured such an elementary deduction out for yourself. It seems I've placed my expectations too high."

"So it seems." Lydia frowned at the tension she found in his muscles. "Seriously, though. Why don't you take a break? You're all tense and it's making me uncomfortable."

"I should have known this wasn't a completely selfless suggestion," Snape said with his usual sarcasm, but rose from the desk to sit in a much more comfortable armchair. "Don't touch those potions," he said sharply, his eyes closed.

Lydia stopped her hand just inches away from the cauldron. "One of these days you're going to have to tell me how you do that," she complained.

"Practice. Years and years of it. You teach snot-nosed little brats for over a decade and you learn some useful things."

"Oh come on, it can't be all _that_ bad, can it?" Lydia perched on the arm of Snape's chair and leaned into his shoulder. "It must have its perks somewhere along the line," she whispered into his ear.

"Well, yes. The pay is rather substantial," Snape said with a hint of a smile.

"Se-ev!" Lydia swatted his shoulder and hopped to her feet. "That wasn't nice."

"I'm a mean, greasy git, remember? I'm not supposed to be nice." He yawned and stretched. "And besides, it's too late to be polite. What time _is_ it?"

"Almost midnight," Lydia told him, glancing at the mantle clock. "You should get to sleep. You have a class to teach first thing in the morning." She threw herself down on the couch and pulled an afghan over herself. "I'm gonna do the same."

"I'm not certain that's a good idea," Snape said, real worry creeping around the edges of his voice. "They'll miss you at the dorm."

"Would you just relax?" she told him, exasperated. "No one will notice, and even if they do I'll just tell them I was down by the lake with Marc Prescott."

"And when they find out from Mr. Prescott that you were doing no such thing?" Lydia opened her mouth to protest again, but Snape was adamant. "Go. As long as no one knows about- us- then you're going to act as if there's nothing going on. There's more at stake here than just my job and your reputation."

"What reputation?" Lydia muttered, but she stood anyway and threw the blanket back over the couch. "Fine then. So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Barring a natural disaster or a Death Eater invasion, yes." Snape planted a kiss on her forehead and gave her a gentle push towards the door. "Off with you. Tomorrow's not that far off."

As she walked towards the door, Lydia was plagued with doubts and misgivings. She knew she should let Snape know about what Mitchell Sarrington had said, but for some reason she couldn't force herself to. Every time she tried the words just wouldn't come and she ended up looking like a fool. Still, she knew she should tell him. Tomorrow, she would. She'd tell him tomorrow after supper when they both retired to his rooms.

_Tomorrow and the next day and the next_, she thought to herself as she walked shivering down the fridged hall towards the dorms. _One of these days_...


	6. Secrets Better Kept

_The faces were back, the voices_._ They lurked before his eyes, daring him to touch them, to try and break free of them_._ Every time he tried, they would close in on him, swooping down like so many maddened vultures_._ He screamed at them, beat them back with his hands but his fingers passed right through them_._ Yet he couldn't bring himself to run, to break free of the piercing eyes and the accusing voices_.

__

One face stood out from the rest, and as he watched, it grew itself a head, a body and soon stood a full fleshed man before him._ The wild, tangled hair, the intense blue eyes and the terrifying visage_.

_"Snape_,_" Moody spat, stepping towards him with a sneer on his craggy face_._ "Slytherin Snape_._"_

"No!" Snape shook his head and stepped back, realizing that his entire body was trembling._ "No, go away_._ Go away, go **away**! He cleared me, I'm not one that side anymore_._ Not again, Moody, not again!"_

"You want me to show you mercy when you never showed any to the people you_ killed?" Moody laughed and reached out, grabbing Snape by the hair_._ "Always a coward_._ Just like your brother_..._"_

"**NO**!" Snape jerked himself free and back away._ "No!" he screamed again, hunching over and hiding his face in his hands_._ He could hear the surrounding faces begin their unearthly moans, could feel their breath on his exposed neck_._ "No!" He heard Moody's insane laughter as he tried to run, but there was no opening, no space for him to flee through_._ He felt the faces getting closer and closer, heard Moody's footsteps nearing_.

__

"No!"

"Sev!"

"No! Get away from me, no!" Snape struck out in blind desperation at the voice, knowing it would do no good. It never did. So he was surprised when his fist struck something solid, at the cry of pain that met his blow. His eyes flew open, expecting to see the hundreds of dead faces in their haunting circle, to see Moody laughing at him and taunting him with memories best left dead.

Instead he saw a girl leaning over him, a bruise darkening under her right eye, tears of pain spilling over her cheeks. "Sev?"

"Oh God..." Snape blinked and sat up. He lay fully clothed on the bed, an open book by his side. "Oh God." He reached out hesitantly, brushing the edges of the darkening bruise with his cold fingers. _It was happening again_. "Oh God, Lydia." He dropped his hand and reached out, clutching her to him as he whispered his apologies. "Lydia, Lydia. Oh, God, Lydia." He closed his eyes as he fought off the last whispering screams from his mind. "I'm so sorry, girl. I wasn't- I thought you were- please forgive me."

"It- it's okay," she said, her voice choked. "It's just- you were crying out in your sleep, you started thrashing and I didn't know what else to do. I didn't mean to-" She winced as he touched her cheekbone. "You were having a nightmare."

Snape nodded, still holding her to him. "I didn't know you," he said softly, stroking her long hair. "You weren't you, and the voices kept screaming. I couldn't get them to stop, they just kept screaming until I thought they were going to drive me mad. I thought if I could hit out at them, if I could drive them away I could wake up-" The more he talked, the more the words wanted to pour out. "I had to stop them. If I didn't, if I couldn't wake up then _he_ was going to catch up with me, it would all happen again. I can't let that happen, I can't and I won't." He was aware that he had ceased to make sense and knew that Lydia didn't have the slightest idea what he was talking about. It didn't matter.

"I won't let him bring me back there, do that to me again," he swore, closing his eyes and mind against the memory. "Everyone else believes me, except him. Even when Dumbledore-" He stopped in midsentence, realizing how close he had come to revealing more than he intended. As far as he knew, no one but Dumbledore and McGonagall knew of his position as ex-Death Eater spy. He had been always careful to keep his left arm hidden or covered so that the grinning Skull would never show its face. He kept its visage from all but the most evil, the most vile, the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. He could not let her see, never let her know. He could not afford to lose her.

Even as he thought it, Snape came to realize for the first time exactly what Lydia meant to him. And how much it hurt not to be able to let the rest of the world know. _Too dangerous_, he told himself time and time again. _Too dangerous for her, too dangerous for the rest of us_._ If I'm ever found out, there must be no one else for them to target but me_._ If it is my fault, then let me be the only one to take the blame_._ Better than one who would be missed_.

Then he wondered, would anyone miss him? Dumbledore, perhaps, and maybe even McGonagall. The other teachers would probably breathe their sighs of relief in secret, but the students would surely make to secret of it. He knew some who would openly rejoice to hear that their dour, sadistic Potions Master had gone to the other side of life. He leaned his head so that it was resting on Lydia's soft hair and whispered, "If I were to die tomorrow, would you grieve?"

"Hm?" Lydia's voice was still thick with sleep and pain. When she looked at him, no light of comprehension shone in her eyes and he knew she had not heard him. All for the better.

"Nothing." He stood, leaving her on the bed and walked over to a tall cabinet beside the bed. Snape took out his wand and pointed it at the lock, but did not utter the usual _alohomora_. Instead, he tapped the lock twice and it fell open. He reached in and selected a bottle of light blue liquid before shutting the doors and returning to the bed.

"Drink this," he said, thrusting the bottle into Lydia's hands. She took it, looking at him with curiosity.

"What did you do to that lock?" she asked as she uncorked the bottle. She took a swallow and made a face. "Ugh, what's in this stuff?"

"You don't want me to tell you." Snape took the bottle back and set it on the bedside table. "As for the lock, I have it attuned to my wand, and only my wand. If you know anyone else who has an eleven inch birch with dragon heartstring, kindly let me know so that I may change my wards." He looked at her in concern. "How's your eye?"

"My eye's fine," Lydia told him. "It's the bruise underneath it that hurts. And that's getting better." She touched it gingerly. Snape wanted to verify her statement, but he was afraid to hurt her again.

"I didn't mean-" he started softly, but she interrupted him with a shake of her head.

"I know. It looked like a pretty nasty nightmare. What was it about, anyway?"

Snape looked away. "I don't know." _The faces, the voices_...

He could feel her skeptical look without turning around. "It was a pretty violent reaction to not remember."

"I don't remember anything. It was just a dream." _Blocking him in on all sides, cornering him until **he **came_._ Knowing it was only a matter of time_...

The dream had been a recurring one, but he hadn't had it since about four months ago. It was the same thing every time, the voices and faces would block him in, denying him a way out until Moody appeared. The same way, night after night. It never changed.

Lydia hugged him tightly, unaware of the dark thoughts and worries in his head. "Just as long as you're okay now." He smiled and wrapped his thin arms around her, holding her close to his chest.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered, breathing in the clean scent of her hair. "_Je ne vous mérite pas, belle fille_."

He felt her shift in his grip. "Where did you learn that?" she asked, her voice sleepy. "I remember when you spoke back in the Hospital Wing." She either ignored or didn't notice his sudden wince at the reminder of that night. "_V'là l' bon vent, ma amour m'attend,_" she remembered. "The Wind Song."

"You're not the only one here who is bilingual, Miss Johnson," Snape told her. "Though some may think it odd and unfitting that I should have chosen the language of romance." He settled back into the pillows, still holding her in his arms. "Only I always thought the line was: _V'là l' bon vent, ma **mie **m'attend_."

"Well." He could feel her shrug. "It is. But my mother always taught it to me as 'my love.'"

"She was the one who taught it to me, as well." Snape sighed, brushing back a strand of his hair. "She loved French, you know. Always said she was going to move there as soon as she got old enough. Which she did, but not in the way she dreamed she would. Not in the middle of the year, torn from the only life she had ever known."

"You never told me why she left," Lydia murmured. "Neither did she. What's the big secret?"

"It's a story for another time." Snape's voice was firm. "Not now." His voice softened. "Either way, she loved the language and taught it to me as well. I would have done anything she wanted, and willingly. She was like no one else I'd ever met, your mother."

"Mm."

"Your silence disturbs me. You're never this quiet unless you're scheming up something that is undoubtedly going to give me a headache."

"Are you always such a prick?"

"Only when I need to be."

"Always," she confirmed. "Tell me about her."

"I have."

"Not enough. Every time I ask, people tell me what a wonderful person she was. They never tell me about _her_."

"Take everything you know about me, every piece of my personality-"

"Mhm..."

"Now reverse it and you more or less get your mother."

"Sev!" He chuckled as she hit him on the shoulder.

"What do you want to know?" He loved the way she felt curled up in his arms, like a giant, long haired cat.

"Anything."

"She was a nice girl."

"SEV!"

He laughed again as she glared at him. "If you're going to be vague, then I am as well. If you want specifics, you must start with them."

"What did the other students think about her?"

Snape thought a moment. "It's hard to say. I had few dealings with any student outside my house save her, and most of those were on the loosest terms imaginable. If I had to guess, I'd say she was well liked by all. The only fault some may have seen in her was that she was a Ravenclaw."

"What's wrong with being a Ravenclaw?"

"Slytherins hold a grudge against anyone not in their House," he reminded her.

"Oh yeah. Um...what about you? Why did you love her?"

Snape stopped breathing for a moment. _Why did she ask that?_ "Because-" He paused, searching for the right words. "Because she was the only person who ever treated me like I was a human, a person like her." He half expected to hear the words that he had heard so many times before he had graduated. _You are nothing like her_. "Because she was beautiful. Because she was caring and sensitive in ways I could never understand."_ Because she was everything people adored and respected, and nothing that I could ever be_.

"Oh." A pause. "Then why do you say I'm so much like her?"

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone says I take after my father. And I'm not beautiful."

It was true, really. She had gained more of her father than her mother. Her nose was a little too flat and her eyes were just slightly too far spaced for beauty. The only thing she had inherited from her mother was her black hair and dark irises.

"Because there's more to it than that."

"Sev?"

"Yes?"

"What was your nightmare about? And don't tell me nothing. I know you better than that by now."

"Nothing." Was he trying to be difficult? Or was he trying to tell her that there was something wrong, something terribly wrong? Maybe it was just that he had been lying for so long that he had forgotten how to stop. "I don't remember." He glared at her as she opened her mouth to protest. "Change the subject. Now."

"Fine." She grumbled for a few moments more, then settled back into his arms. Each time he breathed he could feel her warm and heavy against his chest. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

She made a face. "You know. Tell me about yourself. I hardly know anything about you."

"There's a reason for that."

"Don't be a prick. What about your family? Where are they?"

"My father left when I was still in school. Last I knew, he was dead. My mother died of old age about five years ago. I had an older brother, no sisters."

"I didn't know you had a brother."

"There was a reason for that, too."

She hit him. "Tell me about him."

"He died. More to the point, he was killed. It was by a man named Alastor." Even as he said the name Snape shuddered in remembrance. How close he had come to the same fate...

"That's terrible! Why didn't anyone do anything about it?"

Snape shrugged. "He wasn't missed. Besides, there was nothing I could have done. Next question." His tone left no room for argument.

"So they're all dead."

"Yes."

"Were they all in Slytherin House too?"

"Yes. Every Snape who has come to this school was."

"I thought Slytherins became Death Eaters."

Snape felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. "No," he said, his mouth suddenly dry. "Not all of them. Does every Gryffindor become an Auror?"

"I guess not...I hadn't thought about it that way." She must have sensed that she was on dangerous ground, because this time she changed the subject without prompting. "The year's gone by fast, hasn't it?" No, it had gone by as slowly as all the rest. Every year the summer holidays grew farther and farther away. But this year he had a distraction, at least.

"What are you going to do once the term ends? Where will you go?"

He felt her tense and held his breath. This was the first time he had brought up the future after the end of term. It was also the first time he had made any references to her parent's death.

"I don't know." To his immense relief, her voice was normal, if a bit shaky. Even that steadied as she continued. "They left me a lot of money, but the house is still in France. I don't think I'll be moving back there."

"What about next term?"

"I'll be coming back here, of course."

"How does that work, with both your parents dead and no legal guardian?"

She looked at him strangely. "I'm eighteen," she said as she looked up. "I thought you knew."

"No. How does that work? You're only in fifth year."

She lay back down. "When I moved to France I had to take a year off from school because of my parents' jobs. Then Beauxbatons wanted me to take a year over to make up what I had missed. Then I came back here as a Fifth Year. That makes me eighteen." She gave him another look. "You don't think I would have let you do that if I had been underage, do you? I'm not eager to see you lose your job or be called up on rape charges."

"Perhaps." Snape blinked as he took in the new information. "Perhaps if you had told me, I wouldn't have been so...precautious." Still, consorting with a student of _any_ age was frowned upon by the school at best. "It is a comforting thought, however."

"Yeah, isn't it?" Lydia wiggled in his arms, trying to make herself more comfortable. "Sev?"

"Yes?"

There was a long pause. Then: "How much of the reason you want to be with me is because of who I am, and how much is because I remind you of my mother?"

Snape froze while his mind raced. Oh Merlin, where had_ that_ come from? And how in the name of hell was he supposed to answer it? His first reaction was to lie and tell her that Julia had nothing to do with it. But then he thought of how hard it must have been for her to ask that question. She at least deserved an honest answer.

"When I first saw you, all I could remember was Julia," he said carefully. "I hadn't forgotten about her even after all these years." And he never would. "But then as I got to know you more, I realized how much you were both like and unlike her. I saw much of your father in you, and I admit that was more of a shock than you can imagine. So now I know that I care for you as _you_, but when I look at you, I still see your mother sometimes."

"Oh." She seemed to mull that over in her mind for a while. "That's not exactly what I wanted to hear."

"You did ask," he pointed out rather defensively.

"I did." They said nothing for a long while. Finally, she bounced up from his arms and planted a kiss on the bridge of his nose. "Either way, I'm glad you're here. And I still love you either way." She leaned back and grinned, but then her face turned serious. "What's wrong? What did I say?"

Snape blinked and ran her words again through his mind. He cleared his throat carefully and swallowed once. "What did you say?"

"I said I'm glad you're-"

"After that."

"That I loved you no matter what."

"And do you mean that?"

"Oh, Sev, of course I do! You don't think I'd lie about something like that, do you?"

"It's hard to say." He sat in stunned silence for a few moments.

"Are you mad?"

"No." He thought about that, and shook his head. "No," he said again. "I'm not mad." He kissed her gently and squeezed her hand. "I'm not mad. Just surprised. It's been a long while since anyone's said that to me."

"I'm glad I could be the one who did." Lydia stretched and grinned at him. "So now that that's all cleared up and settled, now what?"

"Now you get up so that I may regain the feeling back into my extremities," Snape told her and unceremoniously dumped her over the side of the bed. He stood, wincing as the blood rushed back into his legs. Lydia stuck her tongue out at him from the floor. Then, with a hop and a skip, she went over to inspect his bookcase. Snape followed behind her.

"Gah, don't you have anything interesting to read?" she asked, scanning the titles printed on the leather spines. "All you have is poetry and old history."

"You could deal with a little refresher in history, according to Professor Binns," Snape said dryly.

"Boring old class," she said and moved on. "What's this?" Her hand fell on a particularly slender book. She pulled it out. It was bound in soft black leather and tied closed with a leather strap. Try as she might, she could not get the knot out.

"Nothing." Snape reached out quickly and plucked the book from her hands. He placed it carefully under his arm and selected a smaller, dusty tome. "Try this."

"_A Collection of Poems by John Donne_," she read out loud. "Sounds wonderfully boring."

"Try it, you may be surprised."

She let it fall open to a page in the middle. "Holy Sonnet: 10," she read. Her brow furrowed in concentration. "Death be not proud, though some have called thee/Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so." She made a face. "Sounds cheerful."

"It is, actually." Snape took the book from her hands and continued to read. "For those whom thou think'st thou doth overthrow/Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me."2 He handed the book back to her. "It's about the joy of the rest that comes with the end of life, and how Death itself is nothing but a servant and a pawn if man does not let it become something more. It's what I always wanted as my epitaph."

"Ugh, let's not talk about that." Lydia shuddered.

"It's going to happen sooner or later," Snape told her wisely. "May as well face the inevitable."

"I don't want to think about either of us dying," she stated firmly. "I don't like that thought."

"You need to read the rest of that poem," he said. "Understand what Donne is saying. Keep the book," he told her as she moved to replace it on the shelf. "He's very good. You may even find you like him."

"Right. A man who writes about accepting death." Still, she held onto the book. "So what was in that first one I picked up?"

"Nothing."

"Don't start that with me."

"Fine. It's none of your business." He prayed she would leave it at that. No such luck.

"C'mon, tell me!" She grabbed at the slender book, but he evaded her grasp.

"Don't do that."

She reached for it again but he moved his arm to block her so instead she ended up clutching the sleeve of his robe. Too late he realized his mistake and hastily drew back, but her grip was too strong. The motion only succeeded in drawing the sleeve up over his forearm, baring the skin from wrist to elbow. The Dark Mark on his arm showed up in painful contrast against his white skin.

_Merlin be damned!_ he thought viciously as he yanked his sleeve back down over the hideous skull. He looked up at Lydia's face and felt his heart plummet.

She stared at him with a mixed expression of horror and hatred. He reached out to her, knowing it wouldn't do any good. "Lydia, please-"

"Don't," she whispered, her voice strangled. "Don't! Don't touch me! How could you?" she demanded, her voice shrill. "You _monster_! How could you make me believe- evil!" She backed up slowly towards the door. "I-" She didn't even finish her sentence before turning and running out the door, slamming it behind her. Snape remained behind, staring at the mocking wood and iron, the pain of a thousand Cruciatus curses in his eyes, his arm hanging limp and lifeless at his side.

_Monster, murderer, killer, evil, dark creature-_

It had been months since Lydia had run from the news of her parent's death, and now she was running from it again. Only this time, Snape would not be the one she would run into. He was the one she was running from.

When she had first seen it, she had not registered the shape of the black lines burned into his arm. As she looked closer, she saw the grin, the snake, the skull. It all clicked together right as he had pulled his sleeve back down until she couldn't deny what she had seen.

The Dark Mark. The symbol of Voldemort, the Death Eaters. The ones who had killed her parents.

Hot stinging tears blurred her vision but she refused to let them fall. All she could think of was getting far, far away from that man, from him and all that he stood for. She realized in some distant corner of her mind that she was headed in the direction of Dumbledore's office, but for the most part let her feet guide her instead of her mind. In spite of all, she ended up facing the stone Gargoyle right as it swung open, admitting the huge, hairy form of Hagrid.

"Can't go in there-" He started to stop her, but she darted right past his arm and into the waiting opening. She raced up the stairs and burst into Dumbledore's office.

"Professor-" she gasped, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "Professor, I need to talk to you. Snape- his arm- the Dark Mark- my parents-" She stopped short as she realized the Headmaster was not alone. McGonagall and a strange man sat with him and she belatedly recalled Hagrid's warning not to enter.

"Miss Johnson." Dumbledore wasn't smiling. "If you would wait outside one moment?"

"Yessir." She ducked out, her face in flames. Muffled voices floated through the door and before too long, McGonagall and the strange man walked out.

"Remember what I said to you, Albus," the man said. The first thing Lydia noticed about him was his wild blue eyes. Well, his one blue eye and the second, huge glass thing that rolled over and over in his right socket. "If he hurt that girl-" he pointed, and Lydia suddenly remembered the fading bruise on her cheek. "He might still prove me right after all these years."

"I'll keep that in mind, Alastor." Dumbledore motioned to Lydia. "You may come in now."

Lydia stepped inside and took a seat.

"I believe you wanted to talk to me about Severus?" Dumbledore looked at her seriously. There was no trace of a sparkle in his blue eyes.

"Um- yes." Oh God. How was she supposed to start when Dumbledore didn't even know that they were having a relationship? What would the consequences of _that_ be? She reminded herself that she didn't care about Snape anymore, and that consorting with a student would probably be the least of his worries. Still, it was hard to say it.

"I-" She trailed off again, searching for a place to start. "He's a Death Eater," she finally blurted out. It was better to just say it straight and worry about the details later. "I saw the Dark Mark on his arm tonight."

"I know."

Lydia stopped and stared at the Headmaster, her mouth half open. She shut it with a snap. "You know?"

"Of course. I knew that when I hired him."

"You _knew_?" Lydia suddenly realized how stupid this all must seem. Of _course_ he knew. How could the Headmaster of the school possibly not know that one of his staff was one of the most feared people in all of history? She blushed as she realized how badly she had handled the entire situation. Still, there remained the question of why, and how.

Dumbledore looked at her levelly. "I will assume you just found this out now," he said. "And I take it as well that you did not remain behind long enough to ask for an explanation. Not that I blame you," he went on, "I don't know anyone who would have. Still, you may have found it enlightening." He rested his chin on his fingertips. "Let me tell you about Professor Snape."

Lydia nodded dumbly, too taken by surprise to do much else.

"Severus was a student here year ago," Dumbledore began. "I remember him mostly as a quiet young man, remarkably intelligent, though he kept to himself. The other students found him rather...distasteful and avoided him for the most part. He continued on through the years in a similar manner, though he excelled in his classes. If you asked most people, they would tell you he was rude, brusque, irritable and downright nasty. It was no surprise that he was Sorted into Slytherin, and even less of one when it was found that he had become a Death Eater.

"Some years later, Snape returned to me. Whether he meant to or no, he turned himself in to the Ministry who made him a spy. I assigned him back to Hogwarts as a teacher. For though many others would disagree, I remembered Snape as the same boy who came here years ago, who had a sharper mind than any other student yet was looked down on by all. I thought I knew what that boy was and what he could still be if given the chance."

"But how can you _trust_ him?" Lydia cried out. She clamped her lips down immediately, cursing her slip.

Dumbledore continued to aim that evaluating look at her. "He's been here for over ten years," he explained. "In that past decade he has proven himself not only loyal, but with a desire for redemption. He has returned time and time again to the ranks of the Death Eaters at great personal risk. He has suffered through the pain of the Cruciatus more times than any of us could count, and all without hope of personal gain." Dumbledore's eyes grew distant. "I know that boy was good once, and I believed he could be so again. For now, it seems as if though I was correct."

Lydia sat in the thickening silence, turning her thoughts over in her mind. It was all too much for her to take in, Snape a Death Eater, part of the membership that had killed her parents. Yet Dumbledore trusted him, shouldn't that be enough for her?

"I don't expect you to understand," Dumbledore continued. "Not yet, at least. Perhaps after you have come to know him better..." His blue eyes narrowed. "And perhaps not. We shall see." His eyes softened as he leaned forward over his desk. "Severus is a good man, Miss Johnson. He is no different now than the man you knew two hours, two days, two months ago. Voldemort ruined his life once already, don't let that happen twice. And losing your trust would do that, I assure you. It would ruin him."

Lydia felt her stomach go cold. He knew, Dumbledore knew! But how? Severus surely hadn't told him. She felt like swearing. First Sarrington, now Dumbledore. Did the whole bloody school know? She shook her head, frustrated.

"I guess...I guess I was being a bit of an idiot to have gone all goose-girl like that," she admitted slowly. What Dumbledore said made sense, but... "But..."

"Think about it, Miss Johnson. That's all I ask."

"I can do that, I guess," Lydia said. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"That man who just left, you called him Alastor?"

"Yes, I did."

"Sev- Professor Snape mentioned his name once. Something about his brother?"

Dumbledore looked at her gravely. "Alastor Moody was the man who killed his brother."

"Oh." Lydia felt herself at a loss for words. "So does that mean- was his brother a Death Eater too? Does that make- Moody- an Auror?"

"I think, Miss Johnson, that is a matter you must discuss with Professor Snape himself. Think about what I told you, but try not to be too long about it. I fear the consequences if you should. And Miss Johnson?"

"Yessir?"

"If you do decide to reconcile with Severus, I wish to see the both of you as soon as possible."

"Yessir." Lydia nodded awkwardly and ducked out of the office. As she headed back to the Ravenclaw Tower, she mulled Dumbledore's words over in her mind and shivered.

_Losing your trust would ruin him_.

_How could he know_, she thought crossly, trying to quiet the nagging voice that told her Dumbledore knew more than she could ever guess. _It's not like he was there_._ It's not as if he has the slightest idea what's going on_. Or did he? His words back in the office certainly made it seem as if he did. Still, Lydia was in no mood to listen. The pain of her parents' death had returned hundred fold at the sight of the grinning skull and she wanted to harbor the pain against something. Someone. And it looked as if that someone might just be Snape...

She dreaded to think of Potions class tomorrow.

Lydia slipped into the dungeons quickly and quietly, sliding into her seat beside Thomas.

"Merlin's beard, Lyd, what happened?"

"Nothing." She knew she must look a sight. Her eyes were dry and red, ringed with sleep. Her hair was out of her usual braid and hung in strands over her shoulders. The bruise she had garnered last night had faded, thanks in no small part to Snape's potion, but it still showed darkly against her skin.

"Nothing," she said again. Now was neither the time nor the place to discuss matters even if she had wanted to. Which she didn't.

"Right," Thomas snorted. "And I was moved to House Hufflepuff last night. Give me a break, Lydia. _Something_ happened."

"I don't want to talk about it, alright?" she snapped, glaring at her friend. A few students turned to stare, but she paid them no mind. "_Honestly_, Thomas. You just don't know when to stop pushing, do you? Take a bloody hint and bugger off!"

Thomas stared at her, wide-eyed. Then he scowled and turned away. "Fine," he spat as he gathered up his books. "I'm sorry I even bothered." He moved two desks down to sit beside Marissa Hain. Lydia scowled after him. Just then Snape entered and her mind was taken up completely.

He avoided looking directly at her as he read down the call sheet. He didn't look too much better than she did; if anything, he looked worse even without a bruise on his cheek. Lydia noticed how his fingers trembled as he held the parchment, the flicking of his dark eyes. When he put the list down, she saw that his fists were clenched with the effort of- something. She couldn't tell what. She tried to tell herself she didn't care.

It didn't work.

Class that day was sheer torture as she and Snape danced around each the entire time, trying to avoid contact of any sort. Thomas didn't make matters any better; more than once Lydia would catch glimpse of him sending a nasty look her way and whispering with some of the other students. She felt a cold lump settle in the pit of her stomach.

_He wouldn't, oh God, he **couldn't!**_

She grit her teeth and turned her attentions back to her bubbling cauldron. She prayed that Thomas, no matter how angry or upset, would understand exactly why he couldn't tell anyone about her and Snape. Or, what _had_ been her and Snape. Letting the secret out to the entire school meant dire consequences not only for her, but for Snape as well. He could be fired, or worse. It went beyond simple backbiting or spreading nasty rumours. This involved too many people, with too dire consequences. Surely he understood that!

"Not that there's much of a rumour to spread anymore," she muttered as she chopped up dried slug with more aggression that was strictly necessary. "And why should I even care anymore? Someone like him was never meant to be hired in the first place."

"Huh? Lydia, were you saying something?" Taylor asked as she tipped spider legs into her cauldron

"No." Lydia kept her attentions focused on the slugs.

"What were you so mad at Thomas for, anyway? It sounded pretty vicious. He looks pissed."

"I don't want to talk about it." Lydia was half afraid that Taylor was going to continue to press for details, but apparently she had learned her lesson from the telling off Lydia had given Thomas and dropped it.

"I have your corrected tests from last week," Snape announced, a sheaf of parchment clutched in his thin fingers. "I don't know why I continue to hold out hope for any of you," he said scathingly, "because it is obvious you will never understand what I have to teach. I don't know why I even bother anymore." He began handing back the tests with caustic comments for each student.

"I believe I would enjoy seeing the effects of the potion you described here, Miss Hain, although I doubt you would."

"Try not to let your stupidity show so much, Mr. Ritus. It's disheartening to know that one of your grade has made it into my House."

"Did you even make an _attempt_ at studying, Mr. Applegate? Because it certainly isn't evident here if you did."

"Miss Johnson."

Snape handed the parchment to her without a word more and continued on down the line.

"Adequate, Mr. Wilcot, but only barely. At least try to use the common sense you were born with."

Lydia glanced at the grade on her paper while Taylor glanced over her shoulder and whistled.

"Eighty four percent," she said admiringly. She looked wistfully at her own fifty seven. "No wonder he didn't say anything to you. I think that's one of the highest scores in the class."

There was more to it than that, much more, but Lydia didn't have the energy to go into it just then. She folded up her test and moved to shove it into her bag, but a tiny slip of parchment fell from the sheets and fluttered to the ground. She reached down to pick it up.

As she unfolded it, she felt her breath catch in her throat. Snape's thin, angular writing stood out on the faded parchment.

"_They flee from me, that sometime did me seek,_

With naked foot stalking in my chamber.

__

I have seen them gentle, tame and meek,

That now are wild and do not remember

That sometime they put themselves in danger

To take bread at my hand; and now they range,

Busily seeking with a continual change."

Lydia glanced up, but no one else had noticed. Snape was busy at his desk. She read on.

"_Donnez-moi une chance_._ J'ai besoin de vous_._ Je vous prie_." Give me a chance. I need you. I am begging you.

Lydia swallowed the lump in her throat as she read and reread the lines on the parchment. She tried to harden her heart, strengthen her resolve, but it wasn't easy.

_Losing your trust would ruin him_.

She looked up again and this time saw him looking at her, a strange light in his eyes. She glanced from him to the paper, then back to his face. Emotions warred as she tried to make sense of it all, of anything.

_I need you_._ I am begging you_.

_Voldemort ruined his life once already_._ Don't let it happen twice_.

_Your parents are dead_._ It was the Death Eaters_.

She clenched her fist around the paper, crumpling it up into a ball as she grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, and ran from the room without looking back.

Snape almost cried out from the sheer pain as his heart broke. The door slammed shut behind her, the noise echoing through the corridors like the sound of the sealing of a tomb. His tomb.

He stared at his desk, eyes hot and dry. He had seen her read the paper, seen the look she had given him when she thought he wasn't looking. He had hoped up until that last moment that she could forgive him, that she would understand, but then she had crumpled the paper and fled, leaving him alone in a class full of students, his heart shattered like a crystal phial.

The remainder of the class passed in a blur, during which he barely registered the usual sounds of squabbling and fighting that inevitably broke out when Slytherins were placed in a room with any other House. Snape barely even looked up as they filed past him at the end of class, he was so wrapped up in his own pain that he never took a single point from any student. His odd behavior would be noticed, but he didn't care. He just wanted her back.

As the last student filed out, the heavy door shutting itself behind him, Snape made his way into his inner chambers. He selected a green and silver chair and sat down, his head spinning with want and pain. He took out his wand, the eleven inches of smooth, flawless birch and turned it over and over in his hands, watching the firelight reflect off the smooth wood.

He wanted her back. God, he wanted her back.

Would it work, the Killing Curse? Would it work if the caster set it on himself? Snape pointed the tip of his wand at his own heart and mouthed the words, but could not bring himself to say them out loud. _Avada Kedavra_. It was so simple.

He put the wand away and sighed, leaning back into the chair's cold embrace. He stared into the fire, watching the flames dance and spark with a cheeriness that mocked his hardened want. Snape pulled his left sleeve up over his elbow and stared at his forearm. He cursed the day he had ever let that damning mark touch his skin, but it was too late now for regrets. It had been too late long ago.

Something hard and pointed jabbed him in the ribs. Frowning, he reached into his robes and pulled out a slender book bound in black leather. The book that had caused this whole mess in the first place. He thought for a moment of casting it into the fire, but found he could not bear to part with it. He needed it still, needed it and what it gave him. His fingertips traced the soft leather before he placed it back in his robes, fingertips that remembered a similar softness, the satin smooth that was her skin.

Oh God, he hurt.

She was the first thing he had cared about in too many years, losing her now was more than he could bear. The rooms that had seemed adequate just months before now echoed with emptiness and rang with a silence that lacked her laughter. He had let himself go too far, done what he swore he would never do. He had cared too much.

Maybe it was because it had been so long since he remembered what feelings of anything but anger had felt like. Maybe the intoxication of emotion had overwhelmed him like good wine on a hot day, driving him beyond the boundaries of sense and into the realm where he now sat, only now he was left broken and bleeding, cast onto the hard sand that once meant sanctuary.

The minutes ticked by into hours, and the fire burned down to embers but Snape made no move to create a light. He sat in the semi-darkness, neither moving nor seeing, just staring emptily into the glowing coals. He tried to keep himself from the hope that he knew would only hurt him more in the end, but he couldn't help himself. Every nerve in his body was as taunt as a harp string; at every creak and moan of the castle walls he would tense up and flick his gaze towards the door, half expecting to see her there. He never did.

"We are born in another's pain, and perish in our own," he recited quietly to himself as he stared at the dying embers. "How true."

Without another word, Snape removed the slim, black book from his robes again and placed it on the table. Quickly, before he could lose his nerve, he took out a quill and scribed a brief note on a scrap of parchment and slipped it beneath the straps that held it closed. He stood and rummaged through a trunk at the foot of his bed until he came up with a shimmering armful of liquid fabric. He shook out the cloak, musty and wrinkled from disuse, but the creases slid out of the demiguise hair as smoothly as they would water.

Snape shuddered in revulsion as he pulled the invisibility cloak around his shoulders and fastened the clasp at his throat. The last time he had put this on, it was to go Muggle hunting with Lucius...

No time for that now. He had to hurry, time was now both his enemy and his friend. The book was slipped back into his robes as he stole out of his chambers and into the dungeon proper. Silently, he swept up the stairs, pausing only a moment as he listened to make certain no one was watching. Then he crossed the hallway with a speed a centaur would envy and made his way to the Ravenclaw Tower.

Luck was with him; just as he made it to the top of the stairs, a Ravenclaw sixth year was whispering the password to the portrait door. Snape ducked inside behind her right as the painting swung shut behind him. He paused to orient himself, then headed for where he knew Lydia slept. More cautious than ever, now, Snape slipped inside and picked his way carefully between the beds, trying not to disrupt the sleeping occupants. He found Lydia's bed with relative ease, remembering it from the last time he had been there. A lump grew in his throat as he remembered the night and the nights that had followed, nights that he knew would never be possible again.

Lydia deeply asleep and barely even moved as he leaned over her. Gently, so as not to disturb her, he brushed his lips against her forehead, mindful of the tears that had leaked from his eyes. "_Mon amour,_" he whispered, a mere thread of sound. He placed the book on the table beside her bed and after a moment's hesitation, set his wand down beside it.

"_Maintenez-moi sûr_." Keep me safe.

With one final glance behind his shoulder, Snape took himself out.

On his way back to his chambers, Snape clenched his hands into fists, fingers digging into the skin with the effort of keeping himself from going back. It wouldn't change anything, but every part of him, from head to heart tried to get him to go back.

Back in his own bedroom, all he wanted to do was collapse in a chair and weep. But there would be time enough for that later. Now there was business to attend to. He strode over to the large cabinet that stood against the far wall beside his bed and moved to unlock it, then cursed as he realized he had left his wand with Lydia. He didn't dare cast the _accio_ spell; for one thing, Merlin only knew who would be awake to see the Potion Master's wand rise from the Ravenclaw dorms to go speeding through the castle in the dead of night. And for another: wands couldn't very well travel through stone walls and magicked paintings; there was no way it would be able to make its way from there to here without difficulty.

But there was another way in, without the wand. Quickly, before he could lose his nerve, Snape reached into the collar of his robes and pulled out a small steel key. There was a lock on the cabinet somewhere....yes, there it was. A lock magicked against magic, of all things. And a key to match. No one could get in unless they had the proper key, and no one but Snape possessed that.

As the key clicked into the lock, the doors opened to reveal row after row of small, unlabeled bottles. Crammed into this cabinet were some of the most deadly potions known to man, making it the single most dangerous item in the entire Hogwarts castle. Not even Fluffy the three headed dog could compare to the death these tiny bottles could bring. And that was why Snape guarded its secrets so carefully.

He reached out, noting how his white fingers trembled. They hovered like uncertain spiders over a selection of juicy flies, but the blood of these flies would burn in the veins like heated stone. In the wild, a creature's natural defense was color- those of the bright, vibrant hue screamed of danger, of death by poison or venom. Not so with these bottles. Snape selected a tiny vial of pale blue-gray, turning it over and over in his hands. It was unlabeled- all of them were. If someone didn't know what the bottle contained without them, then they had no right to be in the cabinet in the first place.

But Snape knew. He knew by sight, by smell and by taste each and every potion in both his office and his private stores, right down to the smallest phial. He didn't need labels to understand the art to which he had devoted his very life. He didn't need labels to know that what he held in his hand was potent enough to kill every student and teacher in Hogwarts.

Tonight, however, he was not aiming for a massacre of such a grand scale. No, tonight his goal was nothing but a speck compared to the grand schemes he had partaken in during his days as a Death Eater. He had often wondered, especially in his early days of despair back in Azkaban, what it would be like to take one of his own potions, to feel the effects of his own creation burning through his veins.

Tonight, he would have his chance to find out.

The glass phial was cold even against his bloodless skin. The potion itself was icy as it slid down his throat, the taste not unpleasant. There were worse ways to die, he thought to himself as he let the phial slip from his fingers to land on the stone floor and roll away to some forgotten corner of the room. At the hand of a stranger, a murderer, an unnamed face, a shadow. An Auror.

A gray veil slid over his eyes, creeping in at the edges of his vision. The fire danced in cinque-a-pace, filling the room with kaleidoscope color. The potion's coldness began to spread as it consumed the feelings in first his arms, then hands. He knew in time it would take over his chest and ultimately his heart, quelling the steady beat. A fitting way to die, alone in the cold. Better than at the end of a wand, or worse- at the feet of a madman whose very name meant death.

But potions- potions were something else, another matter entirely. Potions were his life, his reason for being. The crystal phials neither judged nor accused, and with the proper guidance would help a man accomplish anything. If they could not give a man his one desire, then they could help to at least carry the mind away from the pain, the sadness, the misery. Potions had carried him to the heights he stood at now, had been there every step that had brought him closer to Voldemort and helped him to see clearly his folly and his salvation. Now, having failed in all things, cold, empty and drowning in a desolation he would have though impossible, Snape turned to his potions one final time.

Alone in his chambers, in the dying light of a once-cheerful fire, Severus Snape closed his eyes and prepared himself to die.


	7. Time

When Lydia Johnson awoke, the first thing that sprang into her mind was that something was wrong. Something was out of place, missing, unfocused. Something dreadful had happened last night, or something wonderful. Her head swam with the threads of sleep as she tried to wrest control of her thoughts away from the clutches of dreams. She rolled over and stared at the ceiling, trying to remember.

Oh yes. That was it.

A huge, crushing weight came down on her, leaving her breathless for a heartbeat or more. Snape-

No. She didn't want to think about it. Not then, maybe not ever. Lydia stretched and reached for her watch atop the bedside table. Her hand met nothing but smooth wood, and as she groped about blindly for the metal chain she felt her hand closed on something soft and leatherbound. Snape's book.

Frowning, Lydia sat up. It was his book, all right. Slender, black and bound in leather so smooth it felt like fur, it was his book down to the very knots that held it shut. But what was it doing in her room? She distinctly remembered Snape taking it from her and tucking it into his robes right before-

So where had it come from, then? She had half a mind to simply throw the damn thing into the fire and let it burn with the rest of her memories, but she found herself beset by curiosity. She picked at the straps that bound the book shut, but was met with no more success than she had when she first tried to open it. Obviously, Snape had guarded it with something more than a simple locking charm. Her curiosity grew; what could be in the book that forced Snape to take such precautions?

Lydia tried to tell herself that she didn't care, that she didn't want to know. It was probably a list of the ten steps to becoming a successful Death Eater, or an itinerary of Muggle Hunting activities. She tossed it back on the table with an air of indifference, telling herself that she would give it to Dumbledore to return to Snape when she had the chance. As she turned her back, though, the book fell to the floor with a muffled crash.

Bemused, Lydia turned back to the table and bent to pick up the fallen book. It had landed on something smooth and round which had rolled, causing the whole affair to slide off the table. Placing the book back on the table, Lydia picked up the something that had caused the book to fall. Something long, smooth, something bendy, something birch, something eleven inches long...

Startled, Lydia almost dropped it. Snape's wand! But-- how? Why? Wizards never let their wands out of their sight-- it was unheard of! And to willingly give it to another wizard? Then she remembered--

__

"As for the lock, I have it attuned to my wand, and only my wand. If you know anyone else who has an eleven inch birch with dragon heartstring, kindly let me know so that I may change my wards."

His wards...not just the cabinet, but the book as well, perhaps? Nervously, Lydia looked around, but Taylor was still fast asleep in her bed. Silently, so as not to wake her, Lydia crept back into her own bed and drew the curtains closed, holding her breath against the whisper of fabric against fabric.

She hesitated, her hand looming anxiously over the black straps, the wand mere inches from the soft leather. Why was she doing this? There was no reason to open it, no reason to care. She should just give it to Dumbledore and let him deal with it. It was no longer her concern.

Yet Snape had left it on her table for a reason. She had flown off in a rage, not giving him a chance to explain-- not that any explanation would have been good enough to make her stay a single extra second in that room with him, not after seeing that. Still, perhaps she owed him at least this much--

Curiosity, as always, got the better of her. Her lower lip clenched firmly between her teeth, she gently touched the tip of the wand to the soft leather and jerked back as the black straps unraveled smoothly and silently, leaving the book open for her to read.

Eyes traveling swiftly, Lydia flipped through the pages and was startled to find nearly all of it was written in Snape's familiar hand. At first, she was unsure as to what exactly the book contained. A schedule, a journal? There were no dates, but it was possible that Snape remembered his entries without notation. Or it could be simply that he had no need of such records. She flipped through the pages some more, pausing every now and then to read a passage.

_So much has changed_, the spidery script read, _Perhaps this is what it is like to feel alive again_._ I never thought-- no matter what Albus may have told me, I realize now I never believed him_._ I had myself convinced there was no saving me, that I would serve my purpose for the greater good and die quietly, alone_._ Now I see the possiblity that this may not be so_._ Yet the question remains_:_ is this a blessing, or a curse taking yet again the form of innocence?_

Lydia swallowed and read on. Some passages were just sentances scrawled on paper, with no more meaning to them than a cauldron full of water. Others had snips of poetry included.

_How ironic_._ Spies become spies, wheels turn within wheels and fires burn inside fires_._ There is so much double dealing ocurring all around me it is impossible to try and ferret it all out_._ It is all I can do to keep myself headed straight, if ever this twisted path of mine could be called straight_._ How many plots and thrice turnings must I blunder through until I can achieve what it is that Albus has set me to? How long before this mask, the one that resides deep below the mask of the Death Eaters-- how long before it shatters, baring my true self to the world? What face will that be?_

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries,

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

__

But let the world dream otherwise,

We wear the mask.

"Sev," Lydia whispered, tracing her fingers along the slanted script. "Sev..."

As she continued to flip, it was the last passage that caught her attention. The painfully neat, slightly tilted hand was blurry, as if the hand that had held the quill could not-- would not-- stop shaking. There were no dates-- the words could have been written days, hours, weeks ago. Even still, each word hit home, the impact as fresh as if it had been just moments ago that the quill touched parchment.

__

Even as I hold you

I think of you as someone gone

far, far away. Your eyes the color

of pennies in a bowl of dark honey

bringing sweet light to someone else

your black hair slipping through my fingers

is the flash of your head going

around a corner

your smile, breaking before me,

the flippant last turn

of a revolving door,

emptying you out, changed, away from me.

Even as I hold you

I am letting go.

_Why did she ask it? Is it that obvious? Merlin be dammed, why? I admit on paper the words I will not say. Why? Because I am a coward. I cannot bear to look into her eyes and tell her what I know will hurt her. I am pining for her mother. I cannot go a day without thinking of her, how she looked, how she felt, the tender kiss of her smooth skin-- every time I look at her, all I can see is her mother. Not constantly, brief flashes, sometimes longer. But never the whole time, no, not always. Just enough to remind him sharply of what I once had. Remind me that I lost once and it would be all too easy to lose again._

I feel as if the poem speaks to me directly, that the author herself could have felt my plight as keenly as I. In another time, another place, perhaps it could have been my hand that penned the words. To hold someone close and know that already, no matter how hard you may grasp their hand in yours, or hold them in your embrace, they are as good as gone...I see her brown eyes, feel her hair fall through my fingers, and I know that I hold nothing but an image, and idea, a fantasy. Bah, but now I speak in cliches and drivel. Pathetic, how I pour out my heart onto a uncaring paper like some moronic Third Year struck dumb by unrequited love. I always thought myself better than that, stronger. At the very least, more proud. Perhaps I am just blinding myself ot the obvious again, playing myself as the fool.

That passage was the last of the book. The following pages were blank and unmarked. Lydia sat in silence, the book on her lap, staring numbly at the empty pages in front of her. She felt a dry burning behind her eyes as she stared at the empty pages on her lap. She could feel her shields begin to crack and fall apart under the weight of so much pain, and none of it her own. That a man- any man- could suffer so much and so completely was beyond her Lydia's comprehension. In spite of all her efforts to stop it, her heart began to bleed in pity.

_Stop it,_ she told herself fiercely. _The man's evil, and even if he isn't now, he was then. What's to stop him from beings so again?_

But Dumbledore trusts him, she thought in some small corner of her mind. _That should be enough_. And even if it wasn't, she'd _seen_ him, dammit, been with him, loved him, known him. Never once in all those months had he ever once given her reason to fear him. Never.

"Oh, _hell_," she muttered as she slammed the book shut. This wasn't the way things were supposed to work. She was suppose to be so revolted by the revelation of Severus' past that she never wanted anything to do with him ever again. She was supposed to keep going and never look back, regretting only that her time spent by his side was a waste.

Instead, she was sitting on her bed, holding a book of broken admissions in her lap, missing every touch of those slender hands on hers, every breath that caressed her skin. She was sitting there, hating the man not for what he was, but for what it meant. She regretted that the days passed in anger and hatred could never be taken back.

But there were more days, more futures that could cancel out the past.

Her eyes flicked back and forth between the journal and the wand on her bed. Her mind wavered with uncertainty as she felt the smooth birch wood beneath her fingers. Somewhere-- from the desk, from her robes, somewhere-- she found a quill and a tiny ink bottle. Before she could stop and think about her actions, for thought could very well be the end of any plan she had in mind, she flipped the journal open to the first blank page.

_Sev,_ she scratched out on the parchment, cursing her ineptitude with words and wishing she could weave them together like the other entries on the pages. _Sev, I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I shouldn't have run out on you like that. Please, forgive me. I don't know what to say that can make this better, I don't even know if there **is** anything. But if there is-- Sev, please. I need you. I love you._

Lydia stared at the words scratched boldly out on the parchment, stared until her eyes stung with tears and motes. She blinked and slammed the book shut before the ink was even dry, not caring if the words smeared and blurred on the page. As she did, a small scrap of paper fluttered down from between the pages to land on her bed. Lydia blinked back her tears and picked it up, unfolding it to reveal another parchment filled with Severus' cramped, slanted script.

_I've made many, many mistakes over the course of my years. Many of those mistakes resulted in death, the death of others, of innocents, of women, children and the helpless. But this is the first that will end in my own._

Lydia, I cannot change what I am, but I can tell you that I regret it from the deepest part of my soul. I didn't know it then, but the moment that brand touched my skin was the day I severed all future hopes with you. I thought I was taking this Mark in place of your mother, now I see it was in place of you.

I hope that since you could not forgive me in life, you will find it in yourself to rejoice in my death. It would be good to know that there is someone who will feel something when I'm gone. Though I wish I could have had more time with you, at least now I can rest in a place where I can be alone, but without the pain of lonliness. I loved you, Lydia, and I love you still. Even if you cannot warm yourself to me and what I am, I thank you for what you did give to me. You are so like your mother, Lydia. Be well.

As soon as she finished the last word, Lydia threw the parchment to the floor and was out the door before it even hit the ground.

_I am spending far too much time in this room_, Lydia thought to herself as she paced in the waiting room of the Hospital Wing. She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked, shivering at the sound of the wind that played an eerie chorus against the window.

After she left the Ravenclaw tower, she had pushed herself to her limits in getting to Dumbledore's office only to run into a very white faced Professor McGonagall, who told her Dumbledore was in the Hospital Wing. Lungs still burning from her mad dash to the office, Lydia set out once again, this time towards Madam Pomfrey. McGonagall had followed her there, and bade her wait in the foyer while she went inside.

Lydia jumped at the sound of the Hospital doors opening and spun around, the words half formed on her lips. Dumbledore held up his hand for silence, however, and motioned for her to take a seat and took the chair beside her.

"_Letum algidus_," he said, his voice strangely hollow. "The potion that brings death by ice. It ultimately freezes the heart, killing whoever ingested it in a matter of minutes. Severus must have taken it several hours ago."

"He's--" Lydia couldn't bring herself to say it. She simply stared at Dumbledore as if though somehow the Headmaster could provide the words that lodged in her throat before they choked her.

Dumbledore shook his head. "This is where it gets complicated," he said. "Severus...is not dead." He must have either not seen Lydia's look of shock, or ignored it. "We thought he was when we found him, but somehow he still lives. We think," he continued in that same toneless voice, "we think that it has something to do with his time as a Death Eater." For the first time, Dumbledore looked up and stared Lyida straight in the eye. "Do you recall the time when Madam Pomfrey administered the Draught of Living Death?"

Lydia shuddered and nodded. Even the spoken name of that potion sent chills through her skin.

"Severus threw the effects of the Draught off in less time than is humanly possible," Dumbledore went on. "He...made reference to the fact that this extraordinary feat had something to with the Mark on his arm."

Lydia remembered.

__

Dumbledore turned to where Snape lay on the bed, startled but alert. "Awake so soon, Severus?"

Snape grunted and made a barely discernible motion with his left arm. Dumbledore looked hard at the sleeve of his robe as his eyes narrowed, then widened. "I see," was all he said.

"Apparently, when Severus was a Death Eater, he...created something. A potion that gave the taker immunity to the effects of any other potion for a limited amount of time. But it wasn't finished, when he took it, it wasn't perfect. Not yet. Instead of full immunity as he had hoped, Severus found that the potion only partially blocked the effects. Whoever took the new potion would still succumb to the effects of poisons and potions like the Draught, but the results would not be nearly so severe. Also unexpected was its longevity. With the experimental brew, the effects don't wear away after time, so there's never any need to take more.

"This all occured towards the end of Severus' time under Voldemort's command. After he ran, he destroyed all his notes on the potion and swore that no one else would ever know how to create it." Dumbledore's eyes were dark. "With a potion like this, Voldemort could have gone farther than he did, destroyed even more lives than he had. I thank God that Severus never gave him the information."

Lydia interrupted, knowing she was being rude but she felt that she could wait no longer without knowing. "So if he's not dead, then how is he? You said that he got partial immunity. How partial? How can someone be partially dead?"

Dumbledore turned his eyes back to her, eyes heavy with a weariness Lydia had never seen in a human being. "He's comotose. His heart still beats, but barely. His body temperature has dropped so low it's amazing his blood can still flow. We can revive him, but I fear that if he were to regain consciousness now, the pain would surely kill him."

Lydia, who had been about to suggest just that, closed her eyes and lay back in the chair. Merlin, but she was tired. Too tired to think. "So there's nothing that can be done?"

She felt the sickening lurch of her stomach as Dumbledore shook his head.

"We can only wair and pray," he told her, hollowly. "Pray we can find a cure in time. Time," he repeated, shaking his head. "Only then did Lydia notice the dark circles around his eyes and the unnatural pallor of his skin. "Time will be the deciding factor in this. We may be able to help in some way, but for the most part, well, that rests on Severus himself."


	8. DreamTime

"_Magical Medicinal Plants and Where to Find Them_?"

"Read it already. Add it to the pile."

Thomas threw the book onto a pile that was already up to his waist. "What about _100 Ways to Master Mandrakes_?"

"We need a cure for freezing, not for paralysis," Lydia told him, not looking up from the book she leaned over. "Throw it out."

Thomas tossed the book onto the pile and watched stone-faced as it collapsed under its own weight, scattering books across the floor. Pince shot him a nasty look as she passed, frowning darkly at the mess and the noise. Thomas made a face at her back and bent to collect the fallen tomes. He and Lydia had been in the library for the better part of an entire Saturday, pouring over dusty volumes in desperate search of something-- anything-- that could alter Severus' deadly condition. Lydia had not stopped once since morning, despite Thomas' attempts to coax and wheedle her into taking a break to rest and eat. In the end, he had been forced to bring her food and watch as she pushed herself tirelessly through the monstrous collection of the library.

He checked his watch, then glanced out the window and sighed. Time to try again.

"Lydia," he said firmly. He'd tried coaxing, begging, bribing, and even threatening over the course of the day, but so far, nothing had worked. Now, he'd try for reason and sense. "Lydia, you've been here for almost fourteen hours already. You've barely touched the food I brought you, and you're about to fall face first into that book. It's not going to make a difference if you take a few hours and go sleep. It might even help; look at you! You're practically useless in this state." Nothing. "Lydia, go to sleep. I'll keep looking while you're gone. Please, Lydia, go. I'll wake you if we find anything or if anything changes."

"I can't." Lydia pushed the strands of her hair out of her eyes with impatience. "You don't understand." She held up her hand as Thomas started to reply. "No, Thomas, don't. Please, don't even try." She looked up and for the first time that day, Thomas got a good look at her face. Her skin was dulled by an unnatural pallor, made all the more pale by the lank, dark hair where it came loose from its braid. Her eyes were red and shone with trapped tears, heavy with grief and something Thomas could not name.

"I love him, Thomas," she said in a hoarse whisper. "I've got to find a way of bringing him back. I love him and I need him. Don't you understand? He's like this because of _me_, dammit, I was the one who drove him to this! I can't let him-- he can't-- oh, Thomas!" Without warning, she slammed the book shut and threw herself into Thomas' startled arms. "I don't know what I'll do if he dies," she sobbed. "I can't let him. He can't die, Thomas, he can't! I can't bear to lose him, dammit, I love him. He's part of me!"

The rest of her words went unspoken as she dissolved into tears/ Thomas held her and soother her as best he could. His arms had begun to tingle with lost feeling from their awkward position before Lydia got her tears under control.

"You need to sleep," Thomas murmured into her ear as he brushed some of her hair away from where it clung to the salty trails on her cheek. She sat up and sniffed, nodding ever so slightly. Thomas took a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to her. "Come on, I'll walk you back to the Tower." He stood and gave her a smile which she returned rather shakily.

"It'll be okay, Lyd," he told her. "It'll be okay."

***

"You know, I never did tell you that I loved you."

"I know."

"I do, though. Very much so. You knew that, right? I've always loved you."

"I know."

Snape smiled and took her hand in his, entwining his long, slender fingers with hers. He brought her hand up and pressed it to his cold lips.

"S-Sev?"

"Yes?"

"I don't hate you." She traced the black lines on his arm. "I know it's not your fault."

"Isn't it?"

She paused. "I read your journal."

"I know."

"Of course you do. You gave it to me. You _wanted_ me to see."

"Yes."

"Sev?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry. I love you."

He gave no answer, simply pulled her close and tightened his arms around her.

"Severus?"

"Full name, now? Must be important."

"Sev, do you think you'll ever be able to love me without thinking of my mother?"

Silence.

"Sev?"

"I--"

"Sev?"

"I'm sorry." He looked down at her, his black eyes heavy and deep. "I-- yes."

"Yes?"  
"Yes." He closed his eyes. "I will. I do." His eyes opened again. "I'm out of touch. You see, when I first realized I loved you, it took me by surprise. The only other woman I ever loved was your mother. I-- I thought that because I felt the same for you, it was because you reminded me so much of her. Now I realize that isn't true. I love you because you are _you_, Lydia. Not because of whose child you are."

"Oh. You wrote in your journal-- and then you were always so...distant."

Snape sighed and held her even closer. "I'm not used to this. It's been a long time since I've loved anyone. Not since your mother and I were young. I-- I suppose I want to say that I'm sorry if I haven't always been there for you, if I haven't been as caring, as close as you wanted. It's been so long, I'm afraid I've almost forgotten how. I know I haven't been the best of...partners. But, I want to be. And I want to be there for you. I just want you to know that."

"I--I know. At least, I do now." Lydia wrapped her hand around his. "So does this mean you're always going to be here with me?"

Snape's eyes grew sad. "Lydia, dearheart. You know I would give the world to be with you. But-- I can't. You know I can't."

Lydia felt her heart plummet. "So you're still--?"

Severus nodded. "I only have a few moments. I just wanted to tell you that I loved you. That everything would be alright."

"But how can it be? You're still...dead. Dying. Frozen. Whatever it is you are."

"Yes." Severus nodded sadly. "I am. I just wanted to see you again. And now..." His voice trailed off as he gently brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "And now it's goodbye again, dearheart." His smile was tinged with sorrow as he closed his eyes.

"No!" Lydia reached up, tightened her grip on his hand. "No! Sev, don't go! Please! I need you here with me. I love you, Sev. _Please!_" Tears sprang into her eyes as she felt him fading away beneath her fingers. "No, please! Whoever's out there, whoever's listening, please don't make him go! Let him stay here with me, please! I don't want him to go, I don't want him to leave me again!" Her voice broke as he disappeared from view. "_NO! Sev! Ple-ease!_"

Even as his body faded from her arms, a whisper of Snape's voice reached down to brush her ear.

"It is only a dream, dearheart. Only a dream. But more than you might think. Save your tears, Lydia. Tears won't help at all. Not your tears. Not yours..."

And then he was gone.

***

"Sev?"

"Hm?" Something in her voice made Snape look up sharply from his book. "Julia? What's wrong? What is it?"

"Sev, I'm so sorry. I would have told you earlier, but I didn't know." Julia's lower lip trembled slightly as she sniffed back her tears. "Please, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Snape looked at her in confusion. "I don't understand. What's going on?"

"Sev, please don't be angry, it's not what you think. I--" She broke off and turned her eyes away, as if the sight of him pained her. Only then did Snape notice the trunk at her feet.

"You're leaving." It was not a question but a statement. "When?"

"Tonight. Oh, Severus, I'm so sorry!" She made an abortative movement in his direction, as if though she thought better of embracing him.

"For how long?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, Severus. Forever. I don't know. Father sent me the owl this afternoon, I just got it an hour ago or I would have told you. Believe me, Severus, I would have told you if I had known!"

"Where?" He was taking this too calmly, too well. There was no emotion in his voice.

"France." She watched him, looking for some explanation of his odd behavior.

"France." His voice was hollow, empty. "You've always wanted to go to France." The words were not his. They came from somewhere else, somewhere far away. "I hope--" he paused, cleared his throat. "I hope it's everything you wanted it to be."

"Oh, Sev." Julia reached for his hand, but he pulled back, stung by her touch. "Please don't do this, Sev."

"You'd best say your goodbyes. I'm sure there are many who are going to miss you."

"I don't have time, Sev. Do you understand? You're the only one who knows. You're the only one I had time to tell. You know if I had any say in the matter I wouldn't go! I want to stay here with you, I want to always be with you. Please try and understand."

"I-- I know." He finally allowed her to take his hand and held her. The pain and shock was too much. He had to keep it at bay, keep it from devouring him completely. His breathing was ragged, shallow. He was losing her. He had loved again, and now he was losing her.

"Remember me?" she asked, her voice small. "Don't ever forget about me, Severus. Please don't ever forget."

"I won't," he promised even as his heart twisted. The pain was so intense it was almost physical. "I won't."

"Julia?"

At the sound of a third voice, Snape let her go abruptly. He stared in shock at the young man standing in the doorway.

"Julia, are you ready? We're going to miss the train."

"Yes." Julia wiped the tears from her eyes and sniffed. "Just, one minute, Hal. Just one more minute." She turned back to Severus. "I--"

"No." Snape stepped back, never taking his eyes off Hal Curtiss. "No, you'd best go." His black eyes snapped as the pain in his heart grew tenfold. "I wouldn't want you to miss your train."

"Please, Sev." Her eyes were wounded, like a stag caught in a hunter's trap. "It's what my parents wanted. There's nothing I can do about it. Please--"

"Just go." His words were cold, there was nothing in them. Nothing at all. "Just go."

"Sev..."

"Julia, we're going to be late! I've got your trunk, we've got to hurry! Your parents will have a fit if we don't make it."

"Goodbye, Severus." Her words were a plea, her eyes begged him. He said nothing, did nothing as Hal took her by the arm and led her out. She stopped at the door and turned, her eyes cutting into him one final time in a desperate plea for understanding, but he turned his back. He stood like that until he heard the door shut behind him, the footsteps fade down the hall. Only then did he allow himself to cry.

Several months later, he wrote her a letter. In it, he apologized, both for his behaviors and his coldness. He told her he loved her, that he didn't blame her. That he knew it wasn't her fault. The day he tied the letter to his owl's leg was a cold and windy one, with the promise of snow and ice. He watched his breath condense as he let the owl loose from the top floor of the castle and stayed there until the bird was no more than a speck in the sky.

She never wrote him back.

He was never the same after that. While he had been a cold, uncaring bastard before her departure, he became a downright prick. Ruthless in his treatment of others as he was in his studies, he quickly became known as the most disliked student in the history of the school. Others went out of their way to avoid him, and both student and teacher were hard pressed to recall the last time he had spoken a single decent word. No one understood what Julia's departure had cost him. No one knew just how much it had changed who he was. It had torn him up worse than a dragon's claw, ripped out what had made him human. No one understood how much he, the boy who had never let anything touch him, hurt now that he had tasted love.

Somewhere in the Hospital Wing, Severus' cold, half-frozen body shifted and sighed.


End file.
